Quality of Life
by JoanieNobody
Summary: Sequel to "More Than Survival." New faces. Old faces. New troubles. New joys. Happily Ever After? They'll have to work for it. Rating for language and adult situations. Daryl/OC, Shane/OC, Rick/Lori, & any other pairings I can think of.
1. The Little Things

**A/N:** Here it is! The first chapter in my sequel to "More Than Survival." This time around I plan to include the other characters more. Let me know how you like it so far. :-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, except on DVD, but I don't think that really counts.**

Shane lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching his wife sleep. Her chestnut hair had grown long enough to require combing and her body was noticeably thicker around the middle. Shane rested his hand on her belly, a strange mixture of awe and trepidation coming over him, as it did a lot these days. That was _his_ baby growing inside her. Shane never thought he'd ever get the chance at a family of his own. The closest he got was when he took care of Lori and Carl after he thought Rick died. Shane tried not to dwell too much on how badly that ended. What's done is done. Fortunately, he and Rick managed to regain their sense of friendship, and he and Lori were on civil terms, at least.

Marilyn stirred and mumbled something in her sleep, making Shane smile. She was such a sweet girl, almost ten years younger than him and ethereally beautiful. She'd survived plenty of horrors since the walkers overran the world, sometimes by doing things she had a hard time forgiving herself for later. But those experiences helped her understand the sins Shane himself was burdened with. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that she knew him better than anyone else on earth, including Rick. And he definitely knew her better than any woman he'd ever been with. That wouldn't have happened if Shane hadn't been half-dead when they met. He would have followed his old pattern of seduction and eventual disinterest once the novelty of the sex wore off. In his weakened state, however, he and Marilyn spent hours, days talking to each other. Sharing everything about themselves. So when he was finally strong enough, the first night they spent together felt like so much more than just sex.

It was almost enough to make him believe in fate.

Marilyn woke with a jaw-popping yawn, rubbing the grit from her eyes and blinking owlishly at the face hovering over her. Shane smiled, and Marilyn's heart sped up like always. He was such a gorgeous man, so masculine and strong, bull-headed at times, yet always treating her so gently. She just knew back in high school he was the popular jock who always had a cheerleader on his arm, what her mother once referred to as a "career heart-breaker." Being married to him, carrying their first child, Marilyn often felt like she was living a fairytale. One of the harsh lessons she learned since the apocalypse was that life didn't get this good. Yet here they were.

"Mornin', baby," Shane drawled, his accent sending pleasant shivers down her spine, "Sleep okay?"

Marilyn nodded. She was prone to bad dreams and restless nights. They both were. "Yeah. You?"

Shane smiled again, the hand on her belly inching its way beneath her T-shirt to stroke her skin. "Guess we both had a good night." Then he leaned down to kiss her, Marilyn's arms went around his neck, and they welcomed the new day in the best way possible.

* * *

><p>The older he got, the less sleep Dale seemed to need, which meant he was usually up before most of the other residents of the converted office building they all called home. Since he liked to make himself useful, he often helped Nana Shino prepare breakfast for everyone. He and the matronly Japanese-American puttered around the kitchen that was once a company break room, talking companionably while they worked over the car battery-powered cooking ranges.<p>

Today Dale decided to make something special, a batch of his world-famous johnnycakes. They still had quite a bit of cornmeal left, and he figured if he made the cakes small enough, he could ensure everyone got a chance at trying them if they wanted.

Dale hummed a pleasant tune as he dropped a spoonful of batter onto the hot skillet. The loud sizzle and the rising aromatic steam brought memories of lazy Sunday mornings with his wife, Irma. Mornings spent sitting across from each other in the breakfast nook, dressed in their pajamas and bathrobes, chatting over coffee and reading the paper. Funny how it was the little things Dale found himself missing the most.

"Something sure smells good."

The feminine voice brought a smile to Dale's bearded face, chasing away the melancholy that threatened to wreck his mood. He looked over his shoulder at the approaching figure of Andrea, her hair and nightclothes still rumpled from sleep. She came up beside him and rested her head against his shoulder. "You're making little pancakes?"

"Johnnycakes," Dale corrected.

"What's the difference?"

"They're made out of cornmeal instead of flour." He turned the cakes over with a spatula to let the other sides brown.

Andrea smiled wistfully. "Too bad we don't have any butter. Or maple syrup."

Dale nodded in agreement. "Honey will always do, in a pinch."

There was a plate where the first half-dozen finished cakes were placed. Andrea picked up the bear-shaped plastic bottle off the counter and squeezed a dollop of honey onto one of them, then picked up the still-warm johnnycake and took a bite. "Mmm," she sighed in contentment, chewing slowly.

Dale grinned, pleased with her reaction.

"These'll go really well with the oatmeal," she declared, though in fact they'd used up the last of the oats that were still edible some time ago and now ate a concoction of rice, sugar, and canned milk. Sort of a runny rice pudding.

Dale deposited the next few cakes onto the plate and picked up the bowl of batter to dollop out some more onto the skillet.

Andrea's smile faded a little as she thought about the things that disappeared with civilization. Not just electricity and everything that ran on it, but mundane stuff like dairy products and grains. Things she'd never given any thought to until they just weren't there anymore.

"I miss Wonderbread," she sighed.

Dale chuckled.

"When I was a kid my mom would give me the heels whenever she bought a loaf. I'd eat them with a big glass of milk." Andrea smiled wistfully. "D'you ever think we might ever have flour and milk again someday?"

Dale's eyes got that faraway look whenever he was pondering something, even as his hands still went through the motions of cooking. "I think," he said carefully, "that unless there's already a large enough community to sustain an agrarian lifestyle somewhere in the world, it could be centuries before cattle and grains are domesticated again, if not longer. There just aren't that many of us humans left."

_Not living, anyway_, was the grim thought they both left unspoken. There were still plenty of dead shambling around even a year after the plague struck.

Andrea cast her eyes down and fiddled with the ends of her robe sash. "What makes you think humans'll still be around that long?" she asked, her voice low.

Dale reached over and gently lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his warm gaze. "Do you know what Darwin once said about survival of the fittest?"

Andrea shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning up in expectation of yet another memorized quote from the older man. Dale's mind was like a reservoir of snippets of wisdom gathered from great thinkers long past.

"He said, 'It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.'" Dale smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening. "Humanity's an infinitely adaptable creature. Even after all that's happened, there are still enough of us stubbornly holding on to keep the species going. I have every faith that humankind will still be here a thousand years from now."

Andrea smiled, her hope renewed as always whenever she talked to Dale. She leaned in and kissed the older man, his whiskers tickling her face. As she drew back she murmured, "I still miss Wonderbread."

Dale sighed, "Me too."

* * *

><p>Lia grimaced as the alarm on her wristwatch beeped to life. Eyes squeezed shut, she fumbled with the watch until she hit the right button and blessed silence returned. She rolled over on the bed and reached out to the space on the mattress beside her, finding it empty, the sheets cooled. Her eyes opened then. She sighed, Daryl was out hunting again. After months of sharing the same bed - or rather, the same mattress on the floor - he'd gotten good at sneaking out without waking her. He was always chastising her for not getting enough sleep. Like he was one to talk, she thought sardonically.<p>

It wasn't that she didn't trust him or anything, it was that she worried about him whenever he went off alone. Everyone else stuck to the buddy system when they left the safety of the office building. Hell, Daryl was one of its staunchest enforcers...as long as it didn't apply to him.

Lia sat up with a groan and ran her fingers through the tangle of thin braids on her head. It took a few seconds to motivate herself to stand, then she shuffled out of her and Daryl's room and made her way to the bathroom everyone shared on that floor. A quick use of the toilet and a hasty sink bath later, she emerged feeling a little more human. She went back to her room, changed out of her night clothes into jeans and a T-shirt, and trotted downstairs to the main floor. The big lobby that was now the main rumpus room was crowded with children ranging in age from infancy to early teens, with a sprinkling of adults here and there. At the moment they were all engaged with eating breakfast. Lia wended her way between kids lounging on beanbags and in chairs until she reached the kitchen where she found the indefatigable Nana Shino as expected.

"Good morning!" the old woman called out cheerfully. She handed Lia a bowl already filled with mushy ricemeal. "Dale also made corn cakes, if you'd like one."

"Johnnycakes," the bearded man corrected. He offered one to Lia with a smile. "Figured they'd add a little variety to the usual fare."

"Thanks." Lia bit into the small, flat cake, then nodded appreciatively. "This is good."

"You'd be surprised how easy they are to make," the old man informed her.

"Sure, long as we have cornmeal," she pointed out, thinking of some of their dwindling stores. Canned goods weren't a problem yet, but anything bagged or boxed was becoming harder and harder to replace. Many of the little out-of-the-way grocery stores they normally raided were starting to show damage from the weather and lack of maintenance. Water seepage and mold were finishing off what the rats and bugs didn't get. It wasn't a life-threatening problem to their little community - there were plenty of alternative food sources available - but it was kind of a downer. And in this post-apocalyptic world, bad morale could be as dangerous as any disease, leaving them distracted and vulnerable to attack from walkers and marauders alike. Bare survival wasn't enough. Even the smallest indulgences could keep them going. It was why, whenever she was out on a supply run in the city, Lia always kept her eyes peeled for candy, books, comics, and games they didn't already have. It was why, even though batteries were a precious commodity, they still kept a few set aside to use in the portable CD player so they could occasionally play music for everyone to enjoy.

And it was why Daryl went off hunting so often, even when it wasn't totally necessary.

As if he read her mind, Dale asked, "Daryl off tromping through the woods again?"

Lia nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure he'll be sorry he missed your johnnycakes."

"I can save one for him, no trouble."

"Thanks," Lia said, then walked away to find a relatively peaceful spot to eat her breakfast.

* * *

><p>Daryl knew he was being followed. He even knew who it was. Jessie, a fourteen-year-old girl who was the oldest child in the menagerie of orphans that Lia and Nana had taken in. Every chance she got she trailed after Daryl when he went on his hunts, not because she had some creepy crush on him, but because she was determined to someday become adept enough at tracking that even he wouldn't be able to detect her. The girl was like Lia in that way, once she latched onto a particular skill, she stuck to it doggedly until she got it right. Daryl had to admit she'd improved a great deal over the last few months. He actually had to concentrate to pick out the sounds of her passage from all the natural forest sounds. But she was still a long way from getting the drop on him. Pretty soon he'd end this little game like he always did, sometimes by circling around and surprising the girl, other times leaning against a nearby tree and waiting for her to catch up. He'd smirk, she'd roll her eyes, then she'd head for home and Daryl would be free to continue his hunting in peace.<p>

Everyone needed some alone time. Daryl just needed it more often than most others. If he didn't go off on these jaunts through the woods the frustration and resentment would grow until he became impossible to live with. There was a time when Daryl wouldn't have given a shit one way or another, but not anymore. It wasn't just because of Lia, though she was a huge part of it, he'd also grown to care for and in some cases even love the rest of the group. The dozens of orphaned children and the bunch from Rick Grimes's group of refugees. Funny how it took the end of the world for Daryl to finally become more of a people person.

A new sound halted him mid-step. Not behind him, but coming from somewhere ahead. Something was moving through the thick foliage, and from the sound of it, it was big. Maybe a deer, maybe a geek. Either way it was dead once Daryl got it in his sights. He promptly relegated Jessie to the back of his mind and concentrated on what lay ahead. He moved with slow confidence, barely stirring the blades of grass beneath his hiking boots. It was almost as if he was a part of the forest, and in a way, he was. He'd probably spent half his life tracking through heavily wooded areas just like this. Until recently, hunting was the only true joy in his life, the only time he didn't feel the pressure and inadequacy that normally haunted his waking hours. Of course, all those troubles were gone, for the most part. Chased away by Lia. It scared him sometimes how dependent he was on her. Fortunately, she seemed just as dependent on him, so that put them on even footing.

The noises of whatever it was he was creeping up on lacked any kind of subtlety, which made the possibility of a walker more likely. Too bad, Daryl was hoping for a deer. Deer were useful. Only thing geeks were good for was fertilizer.

Daryl crouched behind a scraggly clump of bushes and carefully parted the tangled growth just enough for him to peek through. As he'd suspected, it wasn't a deer. But it wasn't a walker, either. It was a man. He was kneeling down next to a colony of mushrooms that grew around the base of a rotted tree stump. While Daryl watched, the stranger plucked one of the mushrooms and examined it, obviously trying to decide whether it was edible or not. He was dressed in black shoes, dark brown pants, a black shirt, and a tan corduroy jacket. Resting beside him was a camping backpack and a guitar case, of all things. He looked like nothing more than a struggling musician hitchhiking his way to LA in search of fame. His straight black hair was long enough to fall into his eyes, and his face sported several days' worth of beard. Instead of looking scruffy, though, it only made him look gorgeously rugged. And the man _was_ gorgeous, even Daryl had to admit it (said admission never to be uttered aloud so long as he lived). He looked a little like that Irish actor, Colin-something.

Not that any of this mattered. He was still a stranger trespassing in what Daryl considered his territory. The last time he encountered living people in these woods he damn near wound up dead and eaten. This guy might be harmless, but he might also be some psycho out killing whoever he came across and taking everything they had. And what about Jessie? Daryl could still hear her progress through the woods behind him, getting closer. What would this stranger do if he caught a glimpse of the pretty blonde girl? All kinds of possibilities, many of them very bad, ran through Daryl's mind. As much as he disliked the idea of committing murder - and it _was_ murder, he didn't kid himself on that score - Daryl wasn't about to take a chance on the man's intentions when one of the kids was at risk. So, without hesitation, he quickly stood and pointed his crossbow at the stranger. The man's eyes widened in shock and the mushroom fell as he raised both hands in a warding-off gesture, but there was no time for him to speak.

Then Daryl heard a click behind him.

"Mister, you'd best put that crossbow down if you know what's good for you."

_Shit!_ The noise behind him, it wasn't Jessie at all. Daryl silently berated himself for being so idiotically careless. He briefly considered firing the crossbow anyway and trying to dodge before the second man got off a shot, but he knew the odds of surviving such a foolhardy move were pretty slim. He started to lower the crossbow.

"Take the arrow out of it first," the voice behind him ordered, "And put some slack on that string."

Great, there went any possibility of grabbing up the crossbow and getting off a quick shot. _Shit shit shit!_ Daryl muttered that and a few other choice words while he did as he was told. He lay the now all-but-useless weapon carefully on the ground - no way was he gonna drop it and risk damaging it.

"Now, put your hands on your head and get down on your knees."

"I ain't gettin' on my knees," Daryl growled, "I'm dyin' on my feet if yer gonna shoot me."

"I'm not gonna shoot you 'less you don't cooperate," the man's voice said tensely, "Now get your hands up, or I _will_ kill you."

Scowling, Daryl interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on top of his head. He still remained on his feet, however. That was one thing he refused to give in on. It was a useless act of defiance, since there was little chance he could escape before the bastard shot him, but pride wouldn't allow him to even appear to be begging for his life. He heard the soft crunch of feet on the undergrowth and the second man came into his line of sight. This one was a black man, apparently middle-aged, though his hair and short beard had yet to show any gray. He was pointing a revolver with a steely-eyed look that said, even though his conscience might haunt him for it, he wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in Daryl's skull at the slightest provocation.

The black man glanced at his companion, who'd risen to his feet. "You alright, Hess?"

"Yeah," the man answered, only a little shaken, "Just caught me off guard, is all."

The man with the gun asked Daryl, "What're you doing here? Do you always ambush folks who're passin' through?"

"These're my woods," Daryl answered in a low voice filled with rage barely held in check.

"Somehow I doubt your name's on any deed," the black man remarked drily, "Not that that kinda thing matters anymore."

"We should probably kill him," the first man, Hess, suggested, "He's obviously dangerous."

"You shoot me 'n' every walker in a mile's gonna be drawn by the noise."

"That's not something you need to worry about," Hess retorted.

It was then that a faint rustle drew everyone's attention to where a new arrival stood aiming her bow at the man with the gun. Jessie. She had followed Daryl after all.

But Daryl could tell, even though her aim was steady, that Jessie wouldn't be able to shoot. He could see it in her eyes. She'd never killed a living person before. Animals and walkers, sure, but never human beings. By the time she finally worked up the nerve to release the bowstring it would be far too late. Daryl knew this, so he did the only thing he could.

"Run," he said. He didn't shout, he didn't have to. He'd spent many weeks training Jessie in these words, conditioning her to obey him without question. No sooner did he utter the word than she was gone, dashing through the woods as swift as any deer.

The man with the gun clenched his jaws in frustration. "Dammit. Hess, go after her."

Hess ran, following the direction Jessie went.

Daryl smirked. "He won't catch her. She's fast 'n' she knows these woods better 'n either of ya."

The black man stared at him levelly. "Like my friend said a minute ago, that's not something you need to worry about."

Daryl stared down the barrel of the gun and had to agree.


	2. Solidarity

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, though I probably could if I figured out how to fake the right documentation.**

Lia sat at one of the low coffee tables that dotted the lobby. It was low enough that she found it easier to sit on a cushion on the floor rather than hunching over in a chair. She was scribbling on a legal pad, making lists of the things they were running out of, figuring out which could be replaced, which required alternatives, and which they could do without completely. Sally, the two or three year old (they were never sure of her exact age) foundling who Lia had pretty much adopted as her own, was "helping" at the opposite side of the table by scrawling on sheets of paper with fat crayons that fit easily into her little fist. As usual, the tot's hair was styled in what Lia referred to as the Pebbles look, tied up in a topknot so the plume of wispy black hair looked like a feather duster on top of her head.

For so long the traumatized child never uttered a sound. Then a few months ago she finally began to speak. She was still a quiet little girl for the most part, but at least now if someone asked her a question, they could be sure to get an answer from her.

Sally set aside the green crayon she was using and held up the sheet of paper. "Mommy."

The piping voice dragged Lia's attention away from her jotting. She raised her head to admire the girl's latest masterwork. "That's really nice, sweetie," she said, trying not to seem distracted, "Sort of a Technicolor Rorschach test."

Sally beamed proudly and added the sheet to the messy pile of finished artwork, then picked up the blue crayon and started on a fresh page.

Satisfied that her job as art critic was done for the time being, Lia returned to her work. There were times when she wished the room she shared with Daryl was big enough to squeeze in even a flimsy end table, but they just didn't have the space. At least most of the kids were outside either playing or taking care of their chores. Their absence made for fewer distractions.

Pretty much all the adults, and even some of the kids, told her she needed to relax more. It wasn't like Lia disagreed with them, it was just that her mind couldn't let go of all the problems that sooner or later would need fixing. She fretted about everything from getting enough toothpaste for everyone to making sure they stocked up on whatever medical supplies they might need. But the thing which haunted her the most often was the water. The city's water supply still functioned just fine, turn on a faucet or flush a toilet and it all worked the same as before the walking dead arose. But it wouldn't _always_ work. Someday the whole system would break down and it drove Lia nuts that there was no way to predict when. She had yet to figure out a worthwhile solution to this eventuality. Not only did they need water for drinking, cooking, and bathing, but their roof garden needed plenty of it as well. So far, the crops being carefully raised in massive tubs on top of the building were doing fine, even thriving. But if the water ran out...there went a valuable source of food.

A crackling sound at her hip jolted her from her brooding thoughts. Lia put down her pen and unclipped one of the precious walkies from her belt. The lookouts on the roof always kept one with them with the strict understanding that they would use it only if they spotted something, be it an approaching vehicle or one or more persons on foot, living or dead.

Lia depressed the talk button. "I'm here. Over."

Nine year old Rahim's staticky voice emerged from the tiny speaker, _"Jessie's just come running out of the woods. There's a man chasing her! Over."_

Lia's skin went cold. "Where are they? Over."

The boy described the two runners' position in relation to the building. Lia barked at some nearby kids to spread the word, then ran upstairs to get her bow. Moments later she was outside with Rick, Shane, Andrea, T-Dog, and Glenn. Everyone else herded the little ones indoors and made sure both the front and back entrances were locked, the heavy curtains drawn over the ground floor windows, and archers posted at the windows on the upper two floors. The stillness of the place, coupled with the lack of any sound from inside, created the illusion that it was just another empty building among thousands in the dead city.

Rick was armed with a rifle and his trusty Colt Python at his hip. Shane toted his usual shotgun. Everyone else was armed with bows and arrows. The guns would only be used as a last resort, partly because they needed to conserve ammo, but mainly because sound attracted walkers.

"Some of us should stay here," Shane cautioned, "Help protect the place."

"You volunteerin'?" Rick asked. His friend nodded, right now his priority was to his growing family. Everyone understood that.

"I'll stay, too," T-Dog said.

"Alright," Rick headed out, "Everyone else with me."

Nobody questioned his right to give orders. When it came to situations like this, he and Shane had the most experience. The rest of the group followed as he hurried to intercept Jessie and her pursuer, each of them grim-faced with worry for the girl's and everyone else's safety.

Lia tried hard not to dwell on the fact that Daryl hadn't come home yet. Had she believed in God, she might have prayed at that moment. As it was, all she could do was hope that he was alright and hadn't encountered any other trespassers in the woods.

* * *

><p>Jessie was scared, but she didn't panic. She could hear the heavy footfalls of the stranger chasing after her, but didn't look back and risk losing her footing. That was the kind of stupid mistake girls always made in those horror movies. They screamed when they should have saved their air for running, twisted their heads too look back at the killer getting closer and closer, only to trip on a tree root or something and wind up sprawled in the dirt. The smart thing to do was focus on what was ahead and keep on running. Jessie deliberately chose a difficult path through the woods, ducking through narrow gaps and and under low hanging branches, leaping over ditches and logs. More than once she heard the man behind her curse when an obstacle held him up and gave her a chance to put some more distance between them. And Jessie would need all the distance she could get. She was fast, but she knew once they got to open ground the fully grown man with his longer legs and probably greater stamina would have the edge.<p>

Deep down the girl berated herself for not taking the shot when she had the chance. Daryl would have in her place without a second's hesitation. In Jessie's eyes he was the strongest person alive, and until she could match him in every skill, she would always see herself as weak, a victim. Jessie had been victimized before. Months ago she was attacked, beaten and almost raped, until Lia arrived and saved her. Jessie swore to herself she would never be that helpless again. She would be strong. But when the moment came when she could've saved Daryl, she just froze. Jessie would wallow in self-recrimination later. For now, though, she would concentrate on obeying Daryl's last - but hopefully not final - order.

The edge of the woods came in sight. Jessie put on a burst of speed and dashed out into the grassy area that separated the woods from the old road that passed by the abandoned industrial area where her home was located. Behind her the sound of the man's running footsteps changed and she knew he'd left the trees behind as well. She put everything she had into keeping ahead of him, ignoring the burn in her lungs and the dull throb in her side that threatened to become a stitch. Far ahead she saw a cluster of people coming towards her. Help was coming! But she didn't let this distract her. One moment's carelessness was all it took.

Hess didn't notice the approaching rescue party. He was tunnel-visioned on the young girl in front of him. Damn, she was fast! Hess was no slouch, but he knew he was just seconds away from wheezing from all this exertion. He was so focused on the chase he didn't see the other people until they were almost upon him.

"Oh, shit!" He skidded, almost fell on his ass, then twisted around and started back for the relative safety of the woods. Too late.

A man's voice rang out, "Freeze! You stop right now or we will take you down!"

The sheer authority in his tone, coupled with his use of the word freeze, told Hess this guy was probably a cop in his past life. For a second Hess considered ignoring him, but then a young woman darted into his path. Like the girl, she was armed with a bow and arrow, but Hess knew from looking at her that she wasn't so squeamish about the idea of shooting him. Hess decided now might be a good time to give up. He staggered to a halt, both arms raised. "Take it easy," he huffed, "I'm not armed." This was not entirely true, since he carried a stiletto in his pocket. But why bring attention to that?

There were three other adults surrounding him, two with bows of their own, the third - likely the former cop - pointing a rifle at him.

Jessie spoke up, panting heavily, "There's another, back there," she pointed towards the trees, "With a gun. He's got Daryl."

The tension rose palpably, especially from the woman whose hair was styled in numerous braids. The muscles in her jaw clenched and she glared at Hess as if daring him to give her an excuse to end him.

"Didya see any others?" Rick asked. Jessie shook her head. "Okay. Glenn, Andrea, you two keep watch over this guy. Jessie, tell us where Daryl and the other man are, then head back for home."

"It's faster if I show you," the girl insisted. She could tell the adults wanted to argue, but every second they wasted only put Daryl at greater risk. Reluctantly, Rick agreed, with the understanding that Jessie would lay low once they confronted the stranger holding Daryl hostage.

Following the young girl through the confusion of trees, Lia fought down the urge to run ahead screaming Daryl's name. All kinds of horrible images came to her of Daryl sprawled in the dirt and fallen leaves, bleeding or dead. Lia was ferociously protective of those she loved, and of all of them she loved Daryl most. If that intruder did anything to harm her boyfriend she would kill him. She wouldn't even blink.

Jessie signaled for them to be quiet and they slowed to a wary creep. It wasn't long before they saw two figures through the gaps in the thick foliage. Lia didn't bother to wait for Rick's go ahead, she stepped out into the open and aimed her bow at the black man's head. "Put the gun down or I swear I'll kill you."

Only the man's eyes moved, swiveling in their sockets to look at her sidelong. "You shoot me with that, my finger just might squeeze the trigger on reflex."

Rage and fear roiled in her. "Five..." she snarled between clenched teeth, "Four...Three..." she pulled the bowstring even tauter, "Two..."

Rick touched her arm, the move so sudden and unexpected Lia almost lost control of the arrow, but somehow it remained nocked. She risked a glance at the former sheriff's deputy, wondering what the hell he was up to. What she saw on his face was shock...and recognition.

"Morgan!"

The stranger's eyes widened. His arm seemed to relax of its own accord and the revolver was lowered. "Rick?"

"Y' know this asshole?" Daryl exclaimed, letting his arms drop to his sides.

Rick nodded. "He saved my life once."

"Saved your life, threatened Daryl's," Lia growled. Nevertheless, she lowered her bow and let the string go slack. She still kept the arrow nocked, however. It would take a lot more than Rick's word to make her trust this man.

Daryl bent down and picked up his crossbow, scowling the whole time. His expression relaxed a little when Lia came over, the concern in her eyes obvious. A silent exchange went between them: _Are you okay? Yes._

Rick approached Morgan with his hand outstretched. "It's good to see you made it," he said with a smile.

Morgan hesitated for just a second, then shook the proffered hand. "Almost didn't, a few times."

"Yeah, same here," Rick glanced around, "Where's Duane?"

Morgan turned and called out, "Duane. It's alright, son, you can come on out."

There was a rustle in the undergrowth, then a spindly boy emerged. He was noticeably taller than the last time Rick saw him, the look in his eyes less innocent. But when he saw the former deputy that familiar brilliant smile spread across his face.

Lia's anger cooled somewhat at the boy's arrival. It made Morgan's actions a little more understandable. Like Lia, he was only doing what he felt had to be done to protect his family. And the sad truth was, these days protecting meant taking no chances on others' intentions.

Jessie also came out of hiding, having guessed that the immediate danger was past. She even offered Duane a faint smile and a wave. The boy waved back, more out of reflexive politeness than anything.

"So, these people are with you," Morgan clarified.

Rick nodded, "Yeah. They're good people, and there's more of 'em not too far from here. What about the guy who was chasin' Jessie?"

Morgan threw the girl an apologetic look before answering, "His name's Hess. We met up with him 'bout a week ago. Helped us out of a bind with some walkers. He wouldn't have hurt the girl."

Apparently, his word was good enough for Rick. "You're welcome to come back with us, or you can go on your way."

Lia spoke up, "Rick, no offense, but it's been months since you saw this guy last. A lot can change in that time."

"You think we should turn him and his son away?" his tone was mild, not a trace of anger. He understood that her argument was valid. A lot did change since the world ended, and desperation drove even good men to terrible acts. But his instincts told him Morgan still held on to his integrity, and he trusted him enough to accept his word that the other man, Hess, also meant no harm.

Lia worried her lower lip between her teeth, glanced at the boy, at Daryl. Finally, she sighed in resignation. "We'll see what everyone else has to say about it, but they can come back with us."

Daryl's scowl deepened. Without a word, he pushed past everyone and stomped off through the woods. The fact that they could hear his passage told them all how angry he was. A few uneasy looks were exchanged, then they all followed. A few minutes later they reunited with Glenn and Andrea, who were still standing guard over Hess. Once the situation was explained, the weapons were put away and everyone headed for home - though Morgan noticed how the others were still cautious enough to keep him, Duane, and Hess surrounded.

Daryl walked ahead for a while, but then he slowed until he was beside Rick. "We just gonna take in every stray we meet?" he asked in a low voice.

Rick pursed his lips. "Morgan's a friend. I wouldn't be alive today if he hadn't helped me."

"For all you know, he could be scoutin' for some gang o' bandits," Daryl muttered, "'N' yer leadin' him straight to where we all live."

"He has his son with him."

Daryl snorted. "Bein' a daddy don't make a man a saint. He'll be lookin' out for his own first, which is what _we_ should be doin'."

Rick sighed, shook his head. "I'm just not made that way."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be givin' out orders," Daryl retorted, "'Less your willin' t' do what's gotta be done, even if it means spillin' someone else's blood."

Lia heard enough of their argument for the anxiety to rise in her. The worst part was, neither one of them was completely wrong or right. She hoped she wouldn't have to choose a side, because right now she wasn't sure which she would pick. And if she ended up siding with Rick over Daryl...

_No,_ she told herself. For better or worse, she would always side with Daryl. Just as she knew he would always side with her. She just hoped it wouldn't have to come to that.


	3. Introductions & First Impressions

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and follows so far. If the traffic stats are correct, there are quite a few people reading this fic already. Great to know. Let's just hope most of them aren't calling it crap and giving up after the first chapter. ;-)

Some Daryl/Lia love towards the end of this chapter. Semi-graphic, but not overly smutty in my opinion.

The song lyrics are from the song _Big Rock Candy Mountains_ as sung by Harry McClintock.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, but that doesn't mean I won't have fun with it.**

Once they understood there was no immediate danger, everyone came pouring out to see the newcomers. Except Sally, who trotted over to Daryl chanting "Daddy, daddy!" Daryl scooped the little girl up in his arms and gave her a hug.

"Hey there, little bit. Gimme some sugar."

Sally obediently kissed his cheek with a noisy smack. Daryl smiled even though it brought a familiar tightness in his chest. The kind of affection he had for the child hurt at times, bringing an awareness of how vulnerable she was, how innocence could never shield her from the awful things in the world. And if something ever did happen to her... But it was too late to distance himself. He would just have to make sure nothing ever did happen.

As for Morgan, he was astonished by the number of kids swarming around him, while is son looked delighted. It had been too long since Duane was with other children. While he loved his father, Morgan was no substitute for playmates his own age. Fortunately, the young faces he saw seemed just as eager at the prospect of letting him join in, if only for the novelty he would bring.

Hess was obviously surprised by the size of this community of survivors, but otherwise seemed unaffected, as if having other people around didn't matter all that much to him. He did, however, smile at all the adult women, and they certainly weren't shy about smiling back. Even the normally stolid Nana couldn't entirely resist the power of the young man's charm.

Questions came from all sides, turning everyone's voices into a barrage of incoherent yelling. Rick held up both arms and told everyone to settle down. It took a minute or two, but the voices finally quieted enough for him to be heard.

"I know you're all dyin' of curiosity," he said, "And I promise, you'll all get the chance to ask these fellas about themselves. For now, you'll just hafta get by with introductions." He rested a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "This is Morgan and his son, Duane. The same Morgan and Duane that helped me out last year when I woke up from my coma."

Murmurs of surprise met this announcement. By now everyone knew Rick's story of getting shot and waking in an empty hospital weeks later with no idea that the world was taken over by the dead. He would have quickly joined them if a pair of survivors - a father and son - hadn't found him first.

"And this is their friend Hess," Rick continued, indicating the eye-catching man with the guitar case. Hess smiled and offered a small wave.

Lori stepped forward, one hand resting on the swell of her stomach. Like Marilyn, she too was expecting. "Well, if these are the people who saved you, then I for one say they're more than welcome here." She smiled and held her hand out to Morgan, who accepted it in a strong but gentle grip. "Thank you for helping my husband."

Morgan smiled warmly back. "I'm glad he found you. It's nothin' short of a miracle in these crazy times."

Lori put her arm around a freckle-faced boy about Duane's age and introduced him as her and Rick's son, Carl. Morgan greeted the boy in the same way he would an adult, which earned him Carl's respect right away. Introductions to the rest of the adults were made, then someone asked the newcomers if they were hungry.

"Yeah," Hess said, "Food's been kinda scarce lately. Places we look are either picked clean already or surrounded by too many walkers."

They all went inside and a couple of kids were sent to get some food while everyone else found seats in the lobby. The windows were all wide open to let in the sunlight and a refreshing breeze that blew in between the protective iron bars. Conversation was mostly put on hold while Morgan, Hess, and Duane wolfed down a quick meal of cold stew. Only when they were finished did the questions begin. Morgan did most of the talking. He told of what happened to him and Duane in the time since they and Rick went their separate ways.

"My wife got bit by a walker not long before we found Rick," he began, "When she turned...it was like me and Duane were tethered to that place. We couldn't move on while that shell of her was still there." He reached over and gently stroked his son's slightly matted hair. The boy gave him a solemn look, then nodded, letting him know it was okay to keep going.

"It took me three days of lookin' through that rifle scope before I finally worked up the nerve to end her," Morgan continued, "After that we just piled our things into the jeep and left. My only real regret was not bein' able to bury her. There were just too many walkers around."

"Did you ever hear my transmissions over the radio I gave you?" Rick asked. Every day at sunset, until the radio was no longer in his possession, he'd faithfully sent out updates on his situation, such as when he found his family, when the camp at the quarry was attacked by walkers, when they made their way to the CDC facility. But he never heard anything back and could never be sure there was anyone left to hear him.

Morgan's lips twisted in a self-effacing smile. "Damnedest thing happened the day after you left, Rick. I dropped the radio," he chuckled wryly, "It hit the floor so hard a panel on the back popped off and some parts flew out. I was cussin' a blue streak the whole time I was picking up the pieces and tryin' to figure out where they went. I finally got it so I could receive, but not transmit. I could hear everything you said, but I couldn't answer." Morgan's expression sobered. "Then one day your messages just stopped. After a while I figured maybe you were killed."

Rick glanced at the others and saw the same sober expression on their faces. "We got captured," he explained, "by some people out on a farm. They were starvin' us. We almost didn't make it outta there alive. They got most of our things, including the radio."

"I'm sorry," Morgan said, then sighed, "Sometimes I wonder if the ones still living are a bigger threat than the walkers."

"Not all of 'em," Rick said, indicating all those around them, "There's plenty of good people here."

"And what about you?" Dale spoke up, addressing Hess, "What's your story?"

The handsome young man smiled. "Not much to say, really. I was already on the road when the walkers started cropping up. Heard about all the so-called 'safe zones' like Fort Benning, but figured they'd just make huge targets for the zombies to home in on. No way was I gonna be part of some giant smorgasbord, so I stuck it out on my own. Did pretty good, too, 'til food started getting scarce."

"How'd you hook up with Morgan and Duane?" Rick asked.

Hess glanced at Morgan, who nodded. "Well, it was about a week ago. They were running low on gas for their jeep and had to stop once in a while to siphon some from the abandoned cars. Not the safest thing in the world to do, y'know. Anyway, I heard sounds of a scuffle and my curiosity got the best of me. Found Morgan fighting off some walkers while his kid was locked in the jeep. Looked like he could use a hand, so..." he shrugged.

Morgan grinned and finished, "Hess waded in swingin' a tire iron. Both of us managed to take out most of the walkers, then we piled into the jeep and took off. Just kept drivin' 'til we ran outta gas. After that, I figured it'd be safer all around if Duane and I kept going on foot. Keepin' the jeep fueled wasn't worth the risk."

Daryl had been standing a little apart from the crowd, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a distrustful scowl on his face. As Hess finished his explanation, Daryl straightened and walked away. Lia was the only one to notice. The others were too absorbed in the novelty of these new arrivals. She rose from her seat and followed him outside. He didn't react as she hurried up beside him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't trust 'em," he muttered darkly.

"Rick's vouched for them."

"So? He can't know what they did since he saw 'em last. 'N' that Hess guy, he don't know him from Adam. He could be anything," Daryl snorted derisively, "Course, with a face like that, who's gonna suspect 'im? _You_ sure as hell don't."

Lia took hold of his arm, bringing them both to a halt. She stared at him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Are we getting into the whole jealousy thing again? 'Cause I'm pretty sure we've been over that already."

Daryl's frown deepened. "You were gawpin' at him like the rest o' the women."

"Of course I did! I'm not blind." Though her tone was harsh, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It should have aggravated Daryl further, but instead it reassured him somehow. If she wasn't taking this completely seriously, then she had nothing to feel guilty about. And he knew she would feel guilty if she were having more than just passing thoughts about another man.

"It doesn't mean anything," she said, "It's just...I dunno. Biology. Just because I'm aware that someone else is attractive doesn't mean that I want him." She put her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him with a coy smile. "If anything, it'll make me extra motivated for you."

Daryl snorted, this time in amusement. His mood never stayed dark when Lia was being all flirtatious. He placed his hands over her hips, thumbs tickling the skin above the waistband of her jeans. "Yer a tease."

"Only if I don't follow through." And to seal the deal, she brought her lips to his.

Daryl leaned into the kiss, relishing the intimacy between them. When it ended he rested his forehead against hers and murmured, "I dunno what I did t' deserve ya."

Lia grinned. "Is that a compliment or a 'why me' statement?"

Daryl chuckled. "What d'you think?"

"I think you're right," she sighed, "Morgan seems like a good man, but there's something about Hess I don't completely trust."

Her words brought Daryl a sense of relief. Alone, his suspicions would've made him seem like a paranoid asshole and might have even driven a wedge between them. "Not much we c'n do 'cept keep an eye on him," he said.

"Then that's what we'll do," Lia replied.

Daryl smirked. "Sure that'll be real hard fer you."

"Yeah," she laughed, "Real torture, spending all day staring at that gorgeous face, watching him flash that perfect smile, flip his hair out of his face like one of those models in the old shampoo commercials-"

"Hey, that's a-nuff!" Daryl's fingers dug into her hips. "You _are_ a tease."

Lia grinned and kissed the mole beside his mouth. "You just might hafta teach me a lesson later."

"I jus' might."

Unfortunately, now wasn't the time. Just because they had some new arrivals didn't mean they could set aside their responsibilities. There were still chores to complete, supply runs and other tasks to plan. Morgan, Duane, and Hess were quick to pitch in and the day continued pretty much like always until evening fell. Everyone gathered in the lobby once again to eat dinner. As soon as Hess finished his own meal, he got his guitar out of the case and started to tune it. Everyone perked up at the sound of the strings being plucked. Any kind of new entertainment was welcome.

"What kinda music d'you play?" Shane asked, one arm draped over Marilyn's shoulders while she leaned against him.

Hess shrugged. "Different stuff. Some folk music, some bluegrass, even some modern songs. What're you in the mood for?"

"Anything without a lot of swearwords," Carol stated, glancing at her daughter amongst the other kids.

Hess's smile brought a blush to the short-haired woman's cheeks. "Well, this one's been my particular favorite since all this craziness went down. It's an old song from way back in the Great Depression. Anyone know about the Great Depression?"

A few hands went up, mostly from the older kids. Hess pointed at Marco, who straightened and spoke up, "I remember it from school. After World War One something happened to the stock market and everybody got poor. People had to sell apples and travel on the railroads to find work."

"That's right," Hess grinned, "And this is one of the songs that was written at that time. It's about a hobo's fantasy land, and lately I've been thinking it fits the situation now as well." He strummed a few bars on his guitar. "Here's how it goes:

"_One evening as the sun went down_

_And the jungle fires were burning,_

_Down the track came a hobo hiking,_

_And he said, 'Boys, I'm not turning_

_I'm headed for a land that's far away_

_Beside the crystal fountains_

_So come with me, we'll go and see_

_The Big Rock Candy Mountains_

_In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,_

_There's a land that's fair and bright,_

_Where the handouts grow on bushes_

_And you sleep out every night...'"_

No one could help but crack smiles and even laugh at the silly lyrics. Hess's voice was smooth and pitch-perfect as he sang about cigarette trees and alcohol streams, hens laying soft-boiled eggs and everything else a traveling vagrant would have found heavenly. It wasn't long before people were clapping along with the beat.

"_...There's a lake of stew_

_And of whiskey, too_

_You can paddle all around it_

_In a big canoe_

_In the Big Rock Candy Mountains..."_

* * *

><p>With the loss of electricity, going to bed shortly after sunset became common. There were solar-powered lanterns available, originally intended for use in gardens and patios. They were taken to the roof during the day to recharge and reclaimed for each inhabited room when it got dark. But the glow they cast was dim, well enough for reading next to, but not much else. Some kids chose to leave theirs on all night out of fear for the dark. Nightmares were still prevalent even a year after the world went to hell, and it made calming the kids down easier if they woke even to a dim light.<p>

Lia finished brushing her teeth in the communal bathroom and returned to the room she shared with Daryl to find him sitting on the mattress taking off his boots. His sleeveless shirt was already lying in a small heap on the floor. Daryl wasn't much for folding clothes. Lia left it where it was and climbed onto the mattress, settling on her knees behind him. She put her arms around his shoulders and kissed the side of his neck. Daryl set his shoes aside and reached up to lightly grip her wrists, leaning his head back with a sigh. Neither one of them spoke of what happened out in the woods, the very real possibility that Daryl could have been shot before Lia ever had a chance to save him. It was why they had the buddy system in the first place, to prevent those kinds of situations. Lia would've had every right to berate him for not following that rule. But she knew him too well. He _needed_ to be alone out there, despite the risks. Even though he knew how much Lia worried about him.

Daryl reached up to cup the back of Lia's head, turning his own head to kiss her. Her lips parted to let his tongue slip past her teeth and explore the contours of her mouth. Their breathing grew heavier as the kiss intensified.

The sound of the door opening instantly cut the moment short. Both pairs of eyes turned to the doorway in time to see Sally peek in. The two adults sighed and exchanged rueful smiles.

"Your turn to tuck her in," Lia said.

"No it ain't!" Daryl protested.

Sally watched the two of them while solemnly sucking her thumb, her other hand still gripping the doorknob.

Daryl sighed, knowing that arguing wouldn't do any good. Sally was observant enough to know something bad almost happened to him. Even if it wasn't his turn to put her to bed, he knew she wouldn't settle for anyone else tonight. He rose from the mattress and went to pick her up, her little arms going around his neck.

"Say g'night t' yer mama, now."

"G'night, Mommy," Sally chirped, waving one hand over his shoulder.

Lia smiled and waved back. "Good night, sweetie."

Daryl carried the little girl across the hall to the room she shared with Nana Shino and baby Aidan, both of whom were already sound asleep. Daryl moved quietly to the second crib and carefully deposited Sally inside, wondering again how she could climb out of the thing without hurting herself. She always managed, though.

He kissed her forehead and drew the blanket over her. "'Night, sweet pea," he whispered, using the same affectionate term his mama called him when he was little.

"G'night, Daddy."

Lia and Daryl hadn't encouraged her to call them mommy and daddy, it was just something she did as soon as she started talking. Daryl hadn't wanted to be a father, mostly because his own pa was an abusive asshole and he didn't want to subject his own kids to the same shit he went through. He even went so far as to get a vasectomy at a young age. Then life threw him a curve ball in the form of this cute little orphan. He could have discouraged Sally, but found he didn't have the heart. The child brought out the softer side of him, in spite of himself.

Once he was sure he had the girl settled, Daryl crept out of the room and returned to his and Lia's. When he walked in, he found the place pitch black. Great, he thought sourly, she decided to sleep instead.

"What's keeping you?" Lia's voice murmured in the dark, and something in the tone hinted that sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. Daryl shut the door and relied on memory to guide him to the mattress. His foot touched the edge and he knelt, reaching out until his hand brushed against bare skin. Slender hands touched his wrist and followed his arm up to his shoulder, his neck, and finally cradling his face. Soft lips brushed against his, then deepened into a kiss that threatened to steal the oxygen from his lungs. Daryl quickly fumbled his way out of his jeans, then pushed Lia back until she was lying flat on the mattress, not once breaking the kiss. His hands followed the curves of her body, the dark making the experience that much more erotic even though by now he knew every part of her in intimate detail. He cupped her breasts and gently tweaked her nipples, causing her to moan into his mouth.

Lia wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close enough to feel her dampness. Daryl ended the kiss with a chuckle, "Yer already wet for me."

Her hand snaked down to take hold of his twitching erection. "Now," she whimpered, "Please, now."

Daryl let her guide him into her, every bit as unwilling to take it slow. He didn't even need to wait for her body to adjust to him. They fit each other perfectly. He tangled his fingers in her braids, whispering into her ear as he thrust steadily in and out of her, telling her how hot she made him, how good it felt inside her. Lia clung to him more and more tightly, his words and actions exciting her. Her teeth grazed his shoulder and her short nails dug into the skin of his back. Her hips moved in perfect synch with his.

"Daryl," she rasped into his ear, "I...ohhh!" Her body shuddered. Daryl grunted at the feel of her inner walls tightening around him. His thrusts became erratic and a few seconds later he let out a loud groan and came inside her. They lay together in the lightless room, arms and legs still clinging to each other, their bodies still joined. Their breathing gradually slowed. Daryl finally slipped out and rolled off her. Lia snuggled against him.

"I love you," she murmured.

Daryl kissed her sweaty forehead and hugged her close. He rarely said the words back, but he didn't really have to. Every kiss and embrace told her how he felt. He had just enough energy left to pull the blanket over them, then the couple drifted off into contented sleep.


	4. The Wily Chanterelle

**A/N:** Took a while, but I finally figured out what the heck to write for this chapter. I'm making an attempt to flesh out Hess a little as well as get some more interaction between different characters. Happy reading!

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, or even rent it.**

Even after the zombie apocalypse, there was no escaping schoolwork. Carol and Lori subjected the kids to the basic lessons of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Sometimes Dale pitched in with his eclectic knowledge of literature and history. This impromptu schooling wasn't a day-long affair, since they had to stagger the "classes" to give everyone a chance to squeeze in some education between chores and playtime, but rather a way to keep the youngsters' minds active for a few hours and ensured they wouldn't entirely forget what the world used to be.

Duane joined in on his second day at the converted office building. Much to his shock, he actually enjoyed it. It was the closest thing to normality he'd experienced since the walkers came. It felt good to do something mundane, something that didn't require walking around armed and looking over his shoulder all the time. In the months since the world he was born into ended there were times when the boy felt as if he'd aged fifty years. And his daddy... Morgan tried to hide it, but Duane knew his father was barely holding it together. Running into Hess helped, since the younger man could shoulder some of the burdens of survival. But this place, this miraculous little haven, did the most good. Even after just one night of sleeping under an actual roof, surrounded by other living people, did wonders. Duane saw the shadows that perpetually darkened his daddy's eyes had lifted - not a lot, but enough to ease the boy's worries.

Meanwhile, Morgan felt some of his own anxieties lessen as he watched his son interact with the other children. He knew how much had been deprived from Duane's life in the last year. The loss of family, friends, and basic trust in the decency of others. Before Hess came along, Morgan hadn't trusted any other survivors they'd run into. Not since Grimes. They just couldn't take the risk. Sometimes the rare strangers they saw kept their distance, every bit as wary as Morgan and his boy. Others tried to approach, acting friendly or openly begging. Morgan always sent them on their way, sometimes at gunpoint, if they didn't take the hint. Once, they were attacked by a couple of thin, desperate men who tried to catch them in an ambush and botched it. They ran after Morgan got off a couple of shots. He was pretty sure he wounded one of them, and the wondering haunted him for weeks after. He couldn't help but wonder what happened to the guy. Did he die slowly from infection? Get eaten by a mob of walkers drawn to the scent of blood? Did his companion finish him off or just abandon him? Morgan finally pushed such questions aside, knowing they would never be answered and might even drive him insane. He couldn't let that happen.

Duane was the reason. His son was the reason for everything, why Morgan bothered to live from one day to the next. As long as he focused on his child's survival and well-being, the hopelessness wouldn't drag him down. For the longest time Duane was Morgan's entire world. Which meant the situation they found themselves in now gave Morgan a slightly disconnected feeling. If it weren't for Rick Grimes's presence, he probably would have taken his son and left, regardless of how safe this place appeared. But Morgan trusted Rick. They hadn't known each other very long, only a couple of days, but he knew the former deputy was a good man. The sort of person he wanted around his son as an example of what kind of man he should become.

While Duane was getting to know the other children, Morgan and Hess pitched in with some of the tasks that needed to be done. And it was surprising how much needed to be done, everything from washing loads of laundry to tending the roof garden to patrolling the area for potential threats. A mixed group of older kinds and adults, among them Lia and Shane, set out on bicycles with small trailers hitched to them to make a supply run in the dead-infested city. Another, smaller group, led by Daryl, went into the woods with their bows. Hunting for game or walkers, or both.

Morgan didn't quite trust Daryl. Never mind that the first time he saw him the man was pointing a crossbow at Hess, there was something hard and menacing about Daryl Dixon. He was obviously well suited to surviving this deadly new world. The uncompromising glare in his cold blue eyes told anyone who dared to look in them that he would not hesitate to kill anyone he deemed a threat to him and his. Kill them and leave them to the walkers, and not lose one minute of sleep over it. Morgan couldn't help but wonder what the hell a woman like Lia was doing with someone like that. Where Daryl's driving force was survival at any cost, Lia's was compassion and unswerving loyalty to those she took into her care. It didn't take long for Morgan to figure out she was the leader of this place. Other adults stepped in when certain situations arose, of course, but Morgan could tell if Lia wanted to she could override everyone's authority and wouldn't even have to put up much of a fight. Which once again begged the question, why was she with Daryl?

Hess wondered the same thing, though for reasons other than morbid curiosity. Andrew Hess had always been an easygoing guy. He found it easy to get people to like him, both because of his looks and his natural charm. Sometimes he took advantage of this, but never enough to make lifelong enemies or hurt anyone. He wasn't a cruel man and didn't think he was any more selfish than the next guy. There really wasn't much he missed about the world before the walkers. Though he got along with people without any trouble, he never got attached to anyone. Hess was perfectly content with his own company, which was one of the reasons he'd spent so many years on the road. When he hooked up with Morgan and Duane, it wasn't because he was lonely, but because he had no reason _not_ to stick with them. Just as he had no reason not to stick around here for a while.

Well, there was one thing Hess missed: women. If he didn't have any trouble making friends, he had even less trouble making girlfriends. And he was good enough not to leave them brokenhearted when the relationships ran their course, which was often only a matter of days or even hours. Hess was the kind of guy women smiled wistfully about years later when they've settled down with their boring, safe husbands and their boring, safe families. Neither regretted nor missed, a fond memory of carefree times.

Unfortunately, pickings were rather slim these days. Even here, in the most crowded place he'd seen since this all went down, there were few choices. Most of the females here were just kids, and Hess had never been into that kind of thing. As for the adults: Lori was married, and Hess knew better than to mess with another man's wife, especially if said man had access to firearms. Plus she had one kid already and another on the way. Even if she weren't married, Hess wouldn't have considered her because of the kids. Kids meant the woman was more interested in snagging a husband and father-figure for the little ones, and Hess didn't do commitment.

Which was also why Carol was off the table. She had a daughter. Also, she was a tad old for Hess's taste, though he was flexible enough in the age department if the woman kept herself attractive.

He might have considered Andrea, but she was with Dale, and Hess could tell their relationship was built on a foundation of intimate friendship. He didn't stand a chance against something like that.

Marilyn was by far the loveliest of the adult women, but again, she was married and expecting a child. Even if Hess was willing to break his rules about that kind of thing, there was no way in hell he would ever want to tangle with Shane. The guy looked like he could break him in half, if he didn't shoot him full of holes first.

As for Nana Shino, she wasn't bad looking for her considerable age, but far too old for Hess to ever consider.

Which left Lia. Though not the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen, she had an exotic beauty to her with her bronze skin and raven black hair. Hess found it hard to believe her relationship with Daryl was anything more than a fling with the resident bad boy, a way to relieve some of the constant responsibility she saddled herself with on a day to day basis. Hess had casually talked to the other adults about it and discovered they felt much the same way. A few even believed Lia was making a potentially horrible mistake. Though Daryl had appeared to mellow since he and Lia got together, it was likely nothing more than a thin veneer concealing a ticking time bomb of violent rage. Hess wasn't willing to go so far as to believe that. Lia didn't strike him as the kind of woman who'd be foolish enough to tangle with that kind of danger, no matter how exciting. No, in all likelihood she and Daryl were in it for the sex, pure and simple. That kind of relationship Hess didn't mind spoiling, since at worst he might have to dodge a few punches Daryl would feel obligated to throw for appearance's sake. And it wasn't like Hess wasn't planning to stick around forever anyway.

* * *

><p>When first told that he had to ride a bicycle if he wanted to get anywhere faster than walking, Shane was less than thrilled with the idea. Sure, it made perfect sense - gas was getting harder to come by and bikes were still fast enough to outrun any walker and even most living people - it just didn't feel, well, <em>masculine<em>. He'd said something along those lines to Rick and was laughed at for his trouble. Shane couldn't blame him. Hell, he knew it was silly, but he was raised around muscle cars and big trucks with loud engines. He still missed his old jeep, left to rust somewhere months ago. _That _was a man's vehicle, not some dorky ten-speed.

Now he had to admit the advantages of a bicycle far outweighed any outdated sense of male ego. A bike would never stall or run out of gas, and if it broke it was easy to repair or replace.

As the salvage team made their way home from another successful supply run, Shane thought about all the abandoned vehicles cramming the city streets and smirked.

"What're you grinning about?" Lia asked, riding alongside him. With the city behind them, they relaxed their vigilance a little. While in the city, they were always too busy keeping their eyes peeled for walkers or bandits to chat. But out in the industrial park's open spaces, they'd be able to see anything coming for them long before it became a problem.

Shane replied, "It just came to me that livin' the way we do now, it's like we're a hippie commune or somethin'."

Lia chuckled, "Drat, you've seen through my plan. Just when I was about to sneak in a few vegan dishes for dinner."

"No way am I givin' up meat!" Shane laughed, "I'm a southern man, born and raised, and I'm gonna eat steak 'til the day I die. Even if that steak's venison instead of beef." He sighed wistfully.

"There's bound to be some cattle running wild somewhere," Lia pointed out, "Maybe you and the guys can go on a hunting expedition. Take down a bull with spears like the cavemen you so nearly are." She grinned mischievously.

"If I was a caveman, I'd be draggin' you 'round by the hair."

"Try that and you won't live to see the morning," she said sweetly.

Shane snorted, "Don't I know it. If you didn't finish me, Daryl would."

"Damn straight."

As usual, there were many eager hands waiting to help unload the newly acquired supplies and put them away. Among the salvaged items were three single-sized futon mattresses. They were taken into a room that until recently had been used to store extra clothes. The cardboard boxes were cleared out and the mattresses unrolled.

"Better hope no more strays show up," Shane sighed, "We're runnin' outta room here."

"It'll be fine," Lia said, "Morgan and Duane might stick around, but Hess doesn't seem like the settling type."

Shane's mouth twisted. "No, he seems like the love 'em and leave 'em type."

Lia gave him a sly look. "And you'd know this because..."

The former deputy shrugged his broad shoulders. "I just know the type is all."

"Can smell your own kind, huh?"

He gave her an innocent look. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Uh huh." Lia grinned and the two of them left the room. She picked up her bow from where she'd left it leaning against a wall, then went into the kitchen to get a bucket. "I think I'll go mushroom hunting while there's still enough light," she announced to the semi-crowded lobby, "Who wants to be my buddy?"

A man's voice spoke up, "I'll go."

Lia and Shane turned to find Hess holding his hand up like a kid in school, flashing that charming smile of his. Shane's eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion. Lia gave him the once-over, not in a sexual way, but as one assessing a stray dog that looked friendly but might turn out to be a biter. After a moment to consider, she nodded. "Okay. If you don't have a weapon you can get one from over there," she pointed at a corner cluttered with a variety of blunt instruments, "Nobody goes out unarmed." The community's mantra.

Hess sauntered over to the array of bludgeons. There were baseball bats and crowbars, tire irons, and even a few short-handled shovels. But the weapon Hess chose was a policeman's baton. He picked it up, gave it a couple of experimental swings, then stuck it through a belt loop.

Lia quirked an eyebrow. "That's an interesting choice. Were you a cop in a past life?"

Hess actually threw his head back and laughed like she'd made a hilarious joke, not a trace of sarcasm in the act. "No," he finally replied, "When I was eighteen and going to college I took a job as a night security guard at a parking garage. Wasn't allowed to carry a gun, just one of these," he jostled the baton, "and a can of pepper spray."

"Sounds interesting."

"It was dull as hell," Hess grinned, "Gave me plenty of time to practice my guitar, though."

Lia made a polite, noncommittal sound, then headed for the door, Hess walking beside her. Minutes later they were out in the thick of the woods. "Your job's to keep a lookout while I hunt for the mushrooms."

Hess grinned and said in a dramatic voice, "Tracking the wily mushroom."

A smile tugged at the corners of Lia's mouth. "Yeah, they're real cunning."

She kept her eyes to the ground, scanning the undergrowth. A few minutes later she knelt and plucked a yellow growth with a funnel-shaped cap. "Found a cluster of chanterelles."

"Is that good?" a clueless Hess asked.

"Very good." She dropped the fungus into the bucket and started picking more. "Foodies used to scour the wooded areas for these things. These and morels. There's also a species called shaggy mane, but those grow mostly in grassy areas. Those're the only edible mushrooms I know about right now."

"That's three more than I know," Hess remarked. He started to crouch down to help, but Lia shook her head.

"You're supposed to keep watch, remember."

Chastened, Hess straightened and focused his attention on their surroundings. Most of his attention, anyway. "So, you go digging up mushrooms a lot? _Before_, I mean."

Lia smiled ruefully. "Nope. _Before_, I was just another modern city gal. Closest I ever got to the great outdoors was the park. A lot of the stuff I know now I learned from reading just about every reference book I could get my hands on. But the mushrooms, I learned about those from Daryl."

"Really? Huh."

"Yeah, really. He doesn't just run around shooting things, believe it or not."

Hess glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his expression faintly mischievous. "A man of many hidden talents."

"Yep," she smiled, "And hidden's the way he'd like to keep it." Lia stood, the chanterelles depleted, and started looking for the next bunch to harvest. Hess strode beside her, one hand on the police baton in case of trouble.

A few minutes of easy silence passed before Hess ventured to say, "No offense, but you and Daryl, you're not exactly what I'd have pegged as a couple."

Lia snorted. "Shockingly, you're not the first to say that. Not everybody gets us. I don't mind, and Daryl just doesn't give a shit what anybody else thinks."

"It's just...he reminds me of those guys they used to show on that cop show. Y'know, the ones who got dragged out of their trailers in those wife beaters they always seem to wear. Again, no offense. I'm sure he's a really sweet guy once you get to know him."

"No, he's not. Affectionate, but not sweet," Lia chuckled fondly, "I think that's one of the things I love about him. What you see is what you get. He doesn't pretend to like something or someone just because I do, and if I ask his opinion he always gives me an honest answer, even if I don't always like it." She smiled with a faraway look in her eyes. "Sometimes he says things that really piss people off, but it's real. Everything he says and does, it's genuine. Y'know, _before_ I dated guys who always wound up lying at some point to spare my feelings. Like I was gonna throw myself off a bridge or something if they admitted they didn't wanna see me anymore. I hated that. It was so condescending and disrespectful. Daryl would never do that to me. If he ever does want to end the relationship - which I sincerely hope won't ever happen - he'll come out and say so. Make a clean break."

Hess glanced at her. "But you don't think that'll happen anytime soon."

Lia turned her head to meet his gaze directly. "No. I don't think it will."

Hess nodded, smiled.

It wasn't just a fling. Damn.


	5. Encroachment

**A/N:** A fairly short one this time, mostly to introduce some new characters. I'm hoping you'll be surprised, even though I think this kind of thing was inevitable. Let me know what you think.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, not even a little bit.**

When the walkers ran out of living things to munch on in the cities and towns, they shambled off in search of food elsewhere. They lurched in droves across the countryside, tromping through pastures and fields of crops long since gone to seed, sometimes tangling themselves in barbwire fences. Whatever livestock managed to survive this long without human care and were lucky enough to find gaps in the fences to slip through quickly vacated the farmlands they once called home and sought refuge in the wilderness, or even in the small rural towns the walkers abandoned in their mass exodus. Horses and cattle grazed on overgrown lawns, pigs lumbered through what once were public parks, chickens and turkeys roosted in empty houses.

Not all domesticated animals were able to adapt to life outside of captivity, however. Without people to shear them, the sheep were eventually bogged down by their ever-growing wool, unable to move as they slowly starved to death or were eaten by opportunistic predators or walkers. Millions of dogs and cats died: some because they were unable to get out of their houses, some because they were tethered to trees or trapped behind fences they couldn't climb or dig their way out of. All the little breeds of dogs - the terriers, the dachshunds, the toys and teacups - went extinct in a matter of months. Every cat that was declawed died even sooner.

Only the most adaptable survived. And many of them were quite unexpected.

Daryl and the three kids in his hunting party crouched behind a stand of bushes, gazing in befuddlement at the large birds quietly browsing in the clearing. There were seven of them, their heads bobbing up and down as their beaks plucked at whatever seeds or insects they found in the long grass.

Nine-year-old Bobby finally voiced what they were all thinking, careful to whisper so as not to spook the animals, "Are those _ostriches?_"

Daryl nodded. "Yep."

"Where'd they come from? A zoo?"

"Prob'ly from a ranch somewhere," the adult speculated, "Raised 'em fer meat."

At the word "meat", the kids licked their lips. They ate enough to keep healthy, but only just. Everyone in their little community was thin, the only exceptions being the two pregnant women. Not only that, but the food they got was pretty mundane. Any chance to add a little variety to their diet was welcomed with great enthusiasm.

Daryl smirked in amusement at the kids' expressions. He could practically see the thoughts whirring in their heads: images of giant drumsticks and oversized roast birds. He brought them back to the here and now and whispered their plan of action. While he preferred hunting alone, sometimes a group proved more effective against certain prey. He was pretty sure this would be one of those times. He also had to admit he got a certain thrill out of seeing the kids quickly and efficiently follow his instructions. It was only a matter of seconds before everyone was in position.

Daryl fired his crossbow. The arrow struck the nearest bird at the base of its slender neck. It let out a squawk of alarm, sending the rest of its flock running from this sudden danger. Daryl and twelve-year-old Tanya leaped out of hiding and gave chase, firing more arrows at the retreating ostriches. The wounded bird was pierced twice more and abruptly fell. Another bird stumbled as one of Tanya's arrows got it in the back of the leg, but kept going. The flock quickly outdistanced their pursuers and approached the far end of the clearing - and that was when Bobby and Enrique struck. The hapless ostriches ran headlong into the boys' rapidly fired arrows. The bird Tanya wounded collapsed with an arrow in the chest. Another staggered to a halt with three arrows bristling from its body. The remaining four ostriches swerved and dashed away, leaving their unfortunate companions to their fate.

The kids whooped and waved their bows like little savages as they surrounded the bird still standing. The ostrich swayed, its head held low, beak agape and long throat flexing with labored breaths. It didn't look like it would take much to finish it. This almost made the kids dangerously overconfident.

"Keep back!" Daryl barked, and the youngsters hastily complied. "You don't wanna get kicked by that thing."

As if to emphasize the point, the wounded bird suddenly lashed out with a muscular leg, narrowly missing Enrique's head. The boy helped and backpedaled, eying the creature with newfound respect.

Daryl raised his crossbow and took careful aim. His finger squeezed the trigger, the bow released with a twang, and the arrow embedded itself in the ostrich's large eye. The bird stumbled back a couple of steps, then fell onto its side. Its powerful legs twitched a few times and gradually stilled.

Surprisingly, the first bird was still alive, though just barely hanging in there. It breathed in rapid, shallow breaths, eyes wide in fear and pain. Tanya knelt beside it, mindful of its dangerously strong legs, took hold of its slender neck and gave it a hard twist. An audible pop signaled the end to the ostrich's pain.

"Whoa!" Bobby exclaimed, gaping at their accomplishment.

"How're we gonna get 'em home?" Enrique asked.

Daryl had them rig a travois using tree branches, rope, and a tarp from Daryl's pack. Daryl wound up doing most of the dragging while the kids kept their eyes open for any walkers drawn by the noise or the smell of blood. Lately such encounters were pretty much a given, as the dead had nowhere else to search for food. Tanya and the boys dispatched three or four geeks along the way, pausing only to retrieve their arrows. Nobody bothered to dispose of corpses unless they were within spitting distance of home. Nature could clean up its own messes.

Everyone froze at the sight of movement ahead. They were fairly close to the edge of the woods, which meant the tree cover was sparser. It wasn't long before they saw the two figures ahead were actually Lia and Hess. Lia grinned and waved, her other hand clutching the handle of a bucket. "Hey!" she called, drawing near, "How'd it go?"

"We got ostriches!" Enrique declared.

"You what?" She stepped around them to peer at the three carcasses stretched out on the travois. "Holy crap!" she laughed in amazement, "You weren't kidding. Where'd you find these?"

"Bunch of 'em in a clearing not far from here," Daryl told her, though his eyes were fixed on Hess, and not in a friendly way. "What're you doin' out here with him?"

"I was out getting mushrooms," Lia showed him the half-filled bucket, "Hess volunteered to be my buddy."

Daryl glared.

Hess took a look at the kills and let out an impressed whistle. "Those look heavy. Want some help dragging 'em?"

"I got 'em," Daryl practically snarled.

Hess's eyebrows rose at the other man's harsh tone. "Okay, just thought I'd offer." He backed off with a wary look and put some distance between them. Lia threw Daryl an admonishing glare, which he duly ignored.

They all continued walking, Hess and the kids a little ahead, Lia at Daryl's side. "He volunteered to come along," she repeated, "Not like I could turn him down."

"Damn right y' coulda."

"I figured it'd give me a chance to get a feel for him. See what kind of guy he is."

Daryl gave her a sidelong glance. "And?"

Lia shrugged, "He seems harmless enough. A little...not aloof, exactly, but he keeps his distance."

"He hit on ya?"

She snorted in amusement. "More like testing the waters. He asked some questions about you, about _us_."

"And what'd you tell 'im?"

Lia smiled coyly and bumped her shoulder against his. "What d'you think?"

"I think these fuckin' birds weight a ton."

"Well, Andrew did offer to help."

Daryl halted, perplexed. "Who th' hell's Andrew?"

Lia pointed at Hess. "He has a first name, y'know."

Daryl didn't say anything, just continued to pull the travois, though Lia could tell from his expression that he didn't like the idea of her and Hess on a first name basis. Her feelings about that were a mix of humor and irritation. She knew he trusted her, but at the same time he didn't always trust what they had. This was largely due to Daryl's own insecurities. He still didn't believe he deserved to be happy, proof of what a crappy childhood could bring. Lia understood that, which was why she didn't say anything. Why get into a fight over emotional scars? She would just have to be patient and hope her continued faithfulness would help those scars fade over time.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, less than an hour after the hunting party left with their kills, five dogs emerged from concealment and stepped out into the clearing, noses twitching as they picked up the aftermath of the hunt. Before the world went to hell they were all nothing more than house pets, owned by loving families or couples or individuals. But the hard months had scoured the gentleness from their natures. The feral pack consisted of a German shepherd, two pit bulls, a dobermanlab mix, and a huge unidentifiable mutt. All of them were big, lean, and battle-scarred - their leader most of all.

Turk, the mutt, towered over his companions. His fur was a glossy russet-brown, his eerie pale eyes gleamed with ruthless cunning. One ear was tattered, a reminder of the last fight he engaged in for dominance of the pack. The dog he'd fought died choking on its own blood, courtesy of a torn throat, and from then on the others offered no further resistance. Under Turk's leadership they'd successfully hunted everything from deer to goats to a full grown cow. They even killed a human once, during the worst part of winter when all their ribs showed and they were desperate enough to eat snow to quell their hunger pangs.

Hard to believe Turk was once an ordinary dog who played frisbee with his owner in the park on weekends. But survival left no room for sentiment. And Turk was a survivor. When his owner died and came back, Turk escaped through the pet door into the backyard and dug his way under the fence while his undead master pounded uselessly at the backdoor. Once he got away he spent weeks evading the walking dead and living off the garbage left to rot in the streets. When there were no more scraps to find, he started killing cats and smaller dogs. Those were the bad days, full of loneliness, hunger, and fear. It was only when he started meeting other large dogs that things began to change. At first, they gathered together simply for companionship. It wasn't long before they figured out that catching and killing other animals was easier in a group. Over time ancient instincts resurfaced. The weak died off while the ruthless endured, and the feral pack was formed. Eventually they left the city to the dead. They raided farms in the country and hunted in the woods, but had yet to find a place Turk felt was good enough to claim as their territory. Until now.

These woods were rich in game, both wild and feral. There were deer, rabbits, cattle, birds, and creatures they'd never before encountered. Turk sniffed the spots of blood on the ground. They smelled of bird, but not any kind he knew. There was another scent as well, a scent that had all but faded from the world: humans.

Coco, the brown female pit bull, whined. The familiar scent brought conflicting emotions. She vaguely remembered life _before_ when humans were to be revered and good dogs obeyed them, but she also remembered the man they chased down that freezing winter day, the taste of his blood and flesh, and the sick guilt afterwards. She didn't want to be anywhere near humans now for fear of them somehow knowing her sin. So she whined.

Turk snapped at her, his sharp teeth barely missing the tip of her sensitive nose. Coco quickly dropped onto her belly and crawled towards him, ears laid back and tail tucked between her legs. She licked his jaw submissively.

Satisfied, Turk returned his attention to the scent trail. It was still fresh enough for his brain to interpret it as a bright glowing stream leading off into the woods. He set off after it, the rest of his pack following. They passed the corpses of the walkers that were shot down earlier, giving them only the most cursory glance to be sure they were no longer a threat. Finally, they reached the edge of the woods and stopped. Turk was not quite ready to lead his pack out into the open just yet. He could see the city in the distance, buildings unnaturally straight and rigid. One in particular, closer than the rest, showed signs of activity. The little figures milling around it were far too active to be walkers, plus the breeze didn't carry the stench of decay, but rather the mingled scents of dozens of living humans. More than he'd smelled since the dead started walking.

Coco whined again, very quietly. Turk chose to ignore her this time. Doubts were allowable so long as they were silent. Silence meant obedience, noise meant insubordination. It was a holdover from his house pet days, when a sound of protest earned him a sharp yell and a swat on the nose.

The humans could be a problem. At best, they were competition. But this area's richness was too tempting to pass up. They would establish their hunting territory and avoid the humans as much as possible. At least until the pack was stronger. Then the humans would be just another source of meat.


	6. Give and Take

**A/N:** Just thought I'd take a second to thank you all for reading and reviewing so far. I enjoy the feedback. :-)

And in particular I'd like to thank CaryFairy for the suggestions I received (and yes, I did see Lady Gaga's "Judas" video, solely because I heard Norman Reedus was in it). There's a little something for you near the end of this chapter. ;-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, literally, figuratively, or any other -ly.**

Gas was hard to come by, and what remained was quickly losing its potency. It wouldn't be long before the stuff became about as flammable as dishwater. Propane was even more difficult to find, not to mention volatile since many gas tanks were left exposed to the elements while the people who once tended them shambled around in search of something alive to munch on. Ironically, the most abundant fuel source available was good ol' fashioned, smog-inducing coal. Not just the bags and bags of briquettes left stacked inside nearly every grocery and convenience store, but mountains of mined coal left standing in defunct power stations and overflowing from the cars of abandoned cargo trains. Which was why everyone decided, when the victorious hunters returned, that a barbecue was in order.

Cleaning three dead ostriches was one of the weirdest experiences of Daryl's life, which was saying a lot. For one thing, he wasn't sure if it was better to skin or pluck them. But eventually, with Rick's and T-Dog's help, the birds were ready for the oversized grill that was salvaged from a restaurant a while back. It was a sunny afternoon with enough of a breeze to make the plume of smoke rising from the barbecue dissipate quickly, reducing the chances of someone spotting them from a distance. Some vegetables were harvested from the roof garden and canned goods were brought up from the basement. By late afternoon/early evening, everything was ready.

"This is kinda weird," Lori stated around a mouthful of ostrich, "You'd think this would taste more like chicken."

She and Rick were seated side by side on some lawn chairs. Rick didn't even try to hide his amusement at the fact that his wife was using her enlarged belly as a resting place for her plate.

"If you don't like it, I'd be happy to finish it for you," he offered, already knowing what her response would be.

Lori actually positioned her arm to shield her plate from him. "I didn't say I didn't like it!" She was already halfway done, and it was a safe bet she'd go for seconds as soon as her plate was empty. It was the same when she was pregnant with Carl. She ate twice as much as she used to and every calorie seemed to go straight to her uterus. There were even a few nights when she woke Rick to get her a midnight snack - she'd get it herself, but Rick insisted she needed the rest more than he did. Fortunately, pregnancy also made her incredibly upbeat, which made all her other quirks easier for everyone else to live with.

Rick chuckled, "You're cute when you're bein' greedy."

"I'm not greedy!" Lori denied while cramming another forkful into her mouth, "I'm growing another person! I need sustenance."

Rick kissed her cheek, then settled back in his chair with a smile. He'd always loved these light moments with her, but after everything they survived, he appreciated them all the more. But along with the happiness, a whisper of anxiety sneaked into his thoughts. His family was safe and fed and sheltered here, but he learned from hard experience that the situation could change all at once without warning. And that knowledge hung over him like a small cloud waiting to grow into a thunderhead. Lia wasn't the only person who worried about the future.

Carol scooped a generous spoonful of pasta salad onto the plate of the next person in line. She didn't have to serve up the food, but the lifelong homemaker in her just couldn't stand by while people helped themselves. It had been drilled into her since childhood; always be the good hostess. Before the world ended, on the occasions when Ed dragged her and Sophia over to his friend Noel's house, Carol always felt compelled to clean up before Noel's wife had a chance to. Scrubbing dishes, picking up discarded beer cans, emptying ashtrays. Old habits died hard.

The little boy whose plate she filled thanked her and stepped aside for the next person in line to approach. That person turned out to be Morgan. He and Carol smiled at each other in the slightly awkward way of adults caught in a social situation who weren't quite sure what to say to each other.

"Want some of this pasta salad?" Carol asked, holding up a spoonful, "I had to get a little creative since nobody's willing to risk using mayonnaise anymore."

Morgan smiled and held out his plate. "I'm feeling a little adventurous."

Carol dolloped some onto his plate.

"Thank you." Morgan tilted his head in a polite nod and strode off. Carol watched him leave, her curiosity painting a faint smile on her face.

Over by the grill, T-Dog paused in distributing chunks of meat to nudge Glenn with his elbow. Glenn was in the process of devouring a large wing. He glared at the jostling T-Dog's gesture cause. "What?"

T-Dog nodded towards Carol. "Your lady and the new guy were makin' eyes at each other."

"She's not my lady," Glenn stated, once again regretting the day he confided in his friend over his crush for the older woman, "I'm over that. She took care of me, I was grateful, that's it."

T-Dog rolled his eyes and wiped his sweaty forehead with a bandana he got out of his pocket. The day's heat was compounded by his proximity to the barbecue. "Whatever, man. I still think if you'd spoken up it might've ended up as somethin' else."

"No, it wouldn't have. It was just...y'know..."

"Puppy love?" T-Dog grinned.

Now it was Glenn's turn to roll his eyes. "Shut up, dude."

His friend let out one of those good-natured laughs that made his whole torso quake as he used the barbecue tongs to pick up another section of ostrich breast and place it on the next plate held out to him.

"Thank you," Nana Shino said primly and carried her loaded plate to the nearest available chair - which just happened to be right next to Hess. Outwardly, she seemed completely engrossed in her meal. She showed no reaction when the young man visibly straightened at the sight of a certain couple settling down a few yards away to eat.

"Interesting how well the chanterelles go with ostrich," the old woman observed.

Hess glanced at her. He might not have been here long enough to know everyone even in passing, but it only took a few minutes in her presence to understand that Nana seldom said things for the sake of chitchat. He leaned back in his chair and willed himself to relax. "They do go well together, don't they?"

A few yards away, Daryl said something that made Lia laugh and playfully slap his shoulder.

"You wouldn't think so," Nana continued, "They're from two entirely different worlds, after all. But I've noticed sometimes it's the contrasts that make the best matches."

Hess smirked. "I'm not out to wreck any homes, ma'am."

"Perhaps not," Nana conceded, "But you are definitely out to test a certain home's foundation." She gave him a shrewd look. "Their foundation may still be new, but it's a strong one. It doesn't need any testing."

The young man gave her his most charming smile. "If it really is strong, then it won't matter what I do."

"No, but why put undue stress on it?"

Hess shrugged. "Maybe 'cause sometimes foundations need a little shaking up to reassure everyone they really are as sound as they seem. Or maybe because I'm bored. Take your pick." Hess got up from his chair and walked away, dumping his empty plate in the plastic tub set aside for dirty dishes in passing. Nana's subtle meddling annoyed him. Not enough to make him mad, just enough to irritate him like the faint buzzing of a gnat next to his ear. He didn't like being called a homewrecker. It implied throwing himself at someone for the sick thrill of ruining her happy little relationship. He didn't do that. He flirted, yes, but light enough to be easily brushed off if desired. The way he saw it, if a relationship was worth preserving, then no amount of interference on his part would make a difference. And if it failed, the fault lay with the flawed couple, not him.

Hess strode over to the seated couple, his arrival silencing their conversation. Lia smiled up at him, while Daryl showed off yet another in his vast arsenal of glares.

"You were right," Hess winked, "The mushrooms were delicious. I can see why people spent so much time scrounging for 'em."

"Told ya," Lia grinned.

"Maybe we could go mushroom hunting again sometime."

Lia glanced over at Daryl. Interestingly, her boyfriend's expression was neutral, though he stabbed at his food with a little too much enthusiasm. "Uh, sure," she answered, a touch uncertain, "If you don't mind. Some people find it kinda boring."

"Not me," Hess replied, "I actually found it pretty relaxing. Next time you head out, let me know and I'll be glad to tag along."

"Okay..."

With a friendly parting nod, Hess sauntered away, hands in his hip pockets.

Lia turned to Daryl. "What? No grumbling? No muttered threats to Andrew's well-being? No ominous sharpening of knives or tweaking of your crossbow?"

Daryl sighed. "You want me t' do all that?"

"No, but-"

"Y' said I could trust ya," he said, "I do. But I'm still jealous." His blue eyes met hers steadily. "I'm always gonna be jealous when other men look at ya th' way _he_ was lookin' at ya. It don't mean I'm disrespectin' you or thinkin' you ain't takin' what we have seriously. This is just how I am." He scowled after Hess's retreating form. "I don't like people lookin' to take what's mine."

Lia's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, so I'm _yours_, huh?"

"Yeah," he nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Yer mine. Just like I'm yours."

Lia's expression softened. Not so long ago, Daryl wouldn't have said any of this to her. He would have kept it bottled up until it festered and turned him into someone neither of them liked. Talking things out was yet another way he showed how much she and their relationship meant to him.

"It's funny how you can be aggravatingly primitive and sweetly romantic at the same time."

Daryl snorted. They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Lia mused aloud, "If there's ostriches running around, what else could be out there? Lions? Circus elephants?"

"Saw a buncha hog tracks th' other day," Daryl told her, "Might've escaped from a farm 'n' gone wild."

Lia's eyes turned upward. "Mmm. Bacon."

"It ain't just meat I'm thinkin' about. Hogs 're dangerous. They're smart, mean, and fuckin' huge. Arrows won't cut it with them. Plus, they're gonna eat all th' same stuff we look for out in the woods if we don't stop 'em first."

"Great," Lia sighed, "One more thing to worry about."

Daryl reached out and coiled one of her braids around his finger. "I'll think of sumthin'," he promised, giving the braid a light tug, "Won't be the first time I hunted wild hogs."

Lia looked at him. "Promise me you won't hunt them alone."

"Lia..."

"I'm serious," she said firmly, "If they're as dangerous as you said, I don't want you going after them on your own. I worry enough when you're just hunting deer and rabbits."

He wanted to argue, tell her that bringing others with less experience would only hamper him. But he could see she wasn't just worried by the idea of him going it alone, she was scared. Part of him wished he hadn't said anything, but knowing Lia, she would've read up on feral pigs in one of her dozens of books and berated him for keeping the information to himself.

Compromise. Daryl didn't like compromising. He'd always thought it was a sign of weakness. In none of his previous relationships - if such a label even applied to those tawdry flings - did he ever give in to the woman's requests or demands. He'd throw them out before he ever gave in. With Lia, though, it was different. She never asked something of him on a selfish whim. And she was always willing to make compromises of her own for him.

_If Merle saw me now, he'd tell me I was pussy-whipped,_ Daryl thought ruefully. Then again, if his mama saw him now, she'd probably say he'd finally grown up.

Daryl met Lia's gaze and said, "I promise I won't go after 'em alone."

"Thanks," Lia smiled, visibly reassured, "I gotta look out for what's mine."

Daryl grinned.

* * *

><p>It had been months since any of them ate as much as they did that day, which meant many were close to passing out by the time night fell. Kids and grownups alike dragged themselves indoors and went about the motions of getting ready for bed.<p>

Hess, in his quiet fascination with Lia, noticed that even in this instance she put everyone else ahead of her. She paid special attention to those children prone to bad dreams, tucking them in and offering words of reassurance, once or twice reciting quick bedtime stories to the little ones. Only when the last child was settled did she head for the second floor women's restroom to brush her teeth and wash off the day's grime and sweat. Hess saw Lia hang a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob. A few minutes later Daryl stepped out of the men's room, noticed the sign, smiled, and entered the women's room. Hess decided now was a good time to head down to the room he shared with Morgan and Duane and hit the sack, and silently made his retreat.

Lia never actually said so, but she hated sink baths. She liked showers. Hot, scalding showers that fogged up mirrors and windows and filled the bathroom with a cloud of steam that took forever to dissipate. But there were no showers in the office building, and even if there were, the water wasn't heated. Like it or not, Lia was stuck with sink baths.

Movement was reflected in the mirror, at the very edge of her vision. Lia suppressed a smile. She had to admit, since getting together with Daryl, there were some nights when her washing up was more enjoyable than others. She pretended to focus her attention on wringing out the washcloth as a pair of arms wrapped themselves around her waist.

"Hey," Daryl murmured, his warm breath tickling the side of her neck. His bare chest pressed against her naked back. The skin contact made Lia's pulse quicken. She let the washcloth drop into the sink and reached back with one hand to run her damp fingers through his unkempt hair.

"Y'know, I had a fantasy once about us doing it here in the bathroom," she said, eyes closed and leaning against his solid frame, "Back before we worked up the nerve to make love for the first time."

Daryl grinned, his male ego thrilled at this revelation. "Y' wanted me before then?"

"Of course I did." She let out a faint groan as his large, square hands cupped her breasts. Daryl didn't realize it, but he was already reenacting that fantasy.

"You tired?" he asked.

Lia chuckled. "Not _that_ tired."

She turned her head until their mouths connected in a deep kiss. When it finally ended, Daryl whispered, "Tell me how we did it."

Lia's grin was full of mischief. "Doggy style."

Daryl groaned. "Didn't know yer mind was that dirty. And here I thought you were always too busy plannin' and frettin'."

"Well, I do plenty of that, too," she admitted.

Daryl moved his hands to her shoulders and gently pushed down. "Get on yer knees."

Lia felt a thrill that shot straight to her core. Though they made love quite often, they seldom varied in how they did it. Always face-to-face, one on top of the other or both upright. The chance to try something different gave some added excitement to this moment. Lia obediently lowered herself onto her knees, then leaned forward to rest her weight on her arms without the need of further prompting. She heard Daryl remove his pants and felt him position himself behind her. His erection rubbed against the cleft of her ass before he took hold of it and steered it to where they both wanted it to go. Lia whimpered in anticipation as the tip of his cock barely penetrated her, just enough for him to feel how wet she already was.

"I'm not in the mood to be teased," her voice quavered.

Daryl took a firm hold of her hips. "Good thing I ain't teasin'." And he slammed himself into her, eliciting a cry of ecstasy from her. He didn't pause, but set an almost brutal pace. He leaned down so put as much contact between their bodies as possible, skins sliding against sweat-slicked skin. "This what you thought about?" he rasped in her ear.

"Yes! Oh, god." She really _was_ into it; Lia almost never used the word "god" unless her emotions ran especially high.

Daryl's own emotions were equally powerful. All rational thought fled in the wake of this primal act. His teeth scraped against the side of her neck, biting down hard enough to leave the skin red and probably bruised later. _Mine_, his actions cried, possessiveness roused by earlier jealousy. The pain he caused only enhanced the pleasure Lia was experiencing. Daryl slid a hand down to the apex of her legs. His fingertips found the hard nub of her clitoris and started rubbing it in rough circles. Lia's inner walls contracted as her orgasm crashed over her without warning. She retained enough presence of mind to clamp one hand over her mouth and stifle the high-pitched keening that probably would have woken everyone on that floor, if not the whole building. Daryl buried his face in the crook of her neck and let out a muffled groan as his own climax followed.

They stayed as they were for several moments as they waited for some of their strength returned. Both of them panted heavily from exertion, their heart rates gradually slowed. After a while they got shakily to their feet. Lia turned to Daryl with a weary smile. "Looks like we both hafta wash up again."

Daryl heaved an exhausted laugh. "Sure. I'll wash yer back 'n' you wash mine."

"Naturally," Lia grinned and reached for the nearest sink. She turned the faucet on, but instead of the expected stream there was a series of ominous sputters before the water came. Even then its stream was noticeably weaker than before. Lia's face instantly morphed into a look of worry. She turned to Daryl and saw the same concern in his expression.

"We've gotta get everyone to fill up every container we have before it fails completely," she said, the tension in her body suggesting she just might wake everyone to get this done immediately.

Daryl took her shoulders in a surprisingly gentle grip - surprising to anyone but Lia. "It c'n wait 'til tomorrow."

"But-"

He cupped her face, tracing his thumb over her lips, effectively silencing her. "First thing in th' mornin'. Let 'em sleep, Lia. Let yerself sleep. Tomorrow we'll start lookin' fer a new water source."

"And if we can't find one?" she asked barely above a whisper.

Daryl shrugged. "Then we'll move. Wouldn't be th' first time any of us had t' do that."

Lia nodded, then leaned her head against his shoulder. Daryl put his arms around her.

"I'd hate to leave this place," she murmured sadly, "It's become home for us."

Daryl kissed the top of her head. "We'll be fine."

They rinsed the sweat from their bodies, using as little water as possible, then went to bed. Curled up in Daryl's arms, Lia did her best to force all the worries scrambling through her thoughts to the back of her mind. It was easier than she expected, both because she was worn out and because she could take comfort in the man holding her.


	7. Separation

**A/N:** I was trying for a little bit of a tear-jerker at the end of this chapter. Not sure how well I succeeded. My mood's been a tad dark since 9/11 is coming up. I hope you all take a moment to remember those who were lost and the brave firefighters, police officers, EMTs, and soldiers who gave and continue to give their lives to protect and serve the rest of us.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, period.**

The next morning Dale and T-Dog checked every inch of piping in the building - Dale because he was the most experienced at DIY repairs, and T-Dog because in a previous life he worked as a plumber. Everyone hoped the reason behind the weaker flow was something in the immediate vicinity that they could fix. Unfortunately, though the two men gave the building its most thorough inspection since before the apocalypse, they didn't find so much as a dripping faucet. The problem wasn't with the building. The machinery that had kept the water running through the entire dead city all this time was finally starting to fail from lack of maintenance.

They weren't caught totally unprepared. For months the supply runners had collected bottles and jugs which were now in the process of getting filled. By the time the last gallon jug was topped off, the running water was down to a trickle. The next day when Nana turned the spigot on the kitchen sink, nothing came out at all. Strange how such a disaster could befall them so anticlimactically. The water they saved was immediately rationed, putting the main emphasis on drinking and setting aside the bare minimum required for bathing. Sadly, flushing toilets were now a thing of the past. Dozens of buckets were placed inside the bathroom stalls and emptying them each day became the newest and least popular chore. Those assigned to the task for the week soon became known as the "bucket brigade." Some of the waste was used to fertilize the roof garden while the rest was disposed of in a deep trench on the edge of the woods - the same trench where the overturned Ferenc Builders cube van still lay, in fact. Far enough away to prevent disease and the terrible stench from reaching them.

Even rationed, the water they hoarded wouldn't last long. Not with the garden and almost a hundred thirsty souls to keep hydrated. This was only to buy them time to figure out a more permanent solution.

The adults held a meeting in the lobby after sunset. The younger children were already in bed, but the older kids were still awake and were gathered in the lobby as well. Most of the adults agreed they were old enough to have a say since their lives were just as much on the line. The heavy curtains were pulled over the windows to prevent anything in the outside world from seeing the glow from the lanterns scattered throughout the room. Hess sat a little apart from the main group, strumming his guitar in quiet accompaniment to their low murmurs. He seemed unaffected by the ongoing debate, as if this new crisis didn't even matter to him. There were a few individuals who wondered why he even bothered to show up if he wasn't going to involve himself, but they kept such questions to themselves, focusing on the more immediate problem.

"Movin' might be the only thing we can do," Shane said somberly, one arm circling his young wife's shoulders. Marilyn bit her lip at the thought of leaving. Even though she hadn't lived here as long as most of the others, the old office building had become home for her. The thought of leaving it for the uncertainty of the outside world brought an ache to her chest, and she could tell by the way everyone lowered their eyes they felt the same way.

Nana shook her head, not in disagreement, but from concern. "We're not likely to find any working vehicles. Never mind my old legs, there are little ones and two pregnant women to consider. Traveling on foot would take an eternity."

"And we don't even know where to go," Carol added, hugging her daughter closer. Morgan shared the couch with them, his son sitting Indian-style on the floor by his feet. All the children present held the same serious expressions as the grownups. They understood the gravity of the situation all too well.

"What about a river," Morgan asked, "or a pond? Someplace we could get more water from?"

Rick turned to Daryl. "You've been further out than any of us. Have you seen any water sources?"

Daryl pursed his lips and shook his head. "Coupla waterin' holes and a stream, but nuthin' that'd meet our needs. Plus haulin' it back here 'd be a bitch."

"But if we found a big enough source, we could settle close by," Andrea suggested.

Lori, curled up beside her husband, rested a hand on her swollen belly and felt the infant inside her shift restlessly. She raised her head to fix everyone with her steady gaze and spoke up, "We can't do anything 'til we find a reliable water source. Whether we use it to bring water back here, or leave to settle close to it, we hafta know where it is first. We hafta find a source."

"Some maps of the local terrain would help," Dale suggested, "They'd have all the major rivers and bodies of water marked."

Rick added, "Problem with that is, if we go to one of 'em, we're more likely to run into more people. No tellin' how they'd take to newcomers settling down in what they're bound to think of as their territory."

"Then we don't go to the more obvious places," Lia said, "We find something smaller, a creek or a big pond. Something out of the way that might not even be on most of the maps."

"We'd still hafta find it first," Shane pointed out.

"Send out search parties, you mean?" Morgan asked.

Carol wasn't comfortable with that idea. "Who would go? There's few enough adults here as it is. What if a pack of walkers or bandits show up while the search parties are gone? Could we defend ourselves while short-handed?"

Jessie retorted, "We took care of ourselves with just two grownups before the rest of you came."

"Against walkers, sure. But what about the living?" Carol persisted, "All those gangs running around armed to the teeth who wouldn't think twice about shooting us all."

Lia bit her lip and turned to Daryl. She saw the same look in his eyes, the same thought that occurred to her. "Then we won't send out search parties. We'll just send one person, a scout."

Daryl gave her a small nod, then turned to the others. "I'll go. I got th' most experience survivin' on my own. Been doin' it since way before the geeks came."

No one disputed this, and it made sense. Daryl would know how to travel through the roughest terrain and was best able to figure out where and what to look for that would lead him not only to a water source, but to an area their mixed group could reach easiest and at the same time defend most effectively, should it come to that.

"How long would it take for you to find something?" Andrea asked.

Daryl shrugged. "Could take a few days, could take weeks. No way of knowin'."

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Rick asked, genuinely concerned, "You'd be completely out of touch with the rest of us. If anything happened to you out there, we'd never find out about it. You sure you don't wanna bring a second person along?"

Daryl smirked. "You volunteerin', Grimes?"

Rick fell silent, sensing his wife's hard stare. Before he could formulate an answer, Daryl shook his head and said, "No thanks. Never been into that buddy system y'all keep harpin' on. A second person 'd just get in th' way."

Throughout the men's discussion Lia sat hunched forward with her forearms resting on her knees and her gaze fixed on the floor. Anyone with eyes could tell she had severe misgivings over her boyfriend going off on his proposed expedition, but though a few people tossed different ideas around, no one could think of anything better. Carol was right, their numbers were just too low to spare anyone else and risk leaving the rest vulnerable to attack from outside enemies. If Daryl failed and things got desperate enough, they'd reconsider, but for now a single scout was their best option.

Daryl spent the next few days poring over dozens of maps scrounged from gas stations, atlases from the public library, and even a few land surveys somebody lucked onto. He was mainly interested in figuring out where the larger creeks and river offshoots might be located. He needed to find something that would run all year, not just during the rainier seasons. The worst thing would be to have everyone settle down somewhere only to have their water source dry up at the height of summer.

He marked the likeliest places to check out on a large fold-up map. All of them were out in the wilderness, well away from the remnants of civilization and the dead that still haunted them. At a guess, the closest was a good three or four days away on foot. The farthest, perhaps a month's worth of travel. Daryl really hoped he'd strike it lucky well before resorting to that destination. He wasn't sure he could handle being away from home that long. Already he felt a dull ache at the knowledge that he'd soon be away from the people he'd come to think of as family. The kids, sweet little Sally, maternal Nana Shino. Hell, he'd even miss Rick and Shane and everyone else in the original group. And Lia... He tried very hard not to think about being away from her. If he did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to go through with it.

As the day of his departure neared, the mood in the building turned somber. Even the littlest children who weren't quite old enough to understand everything that was going on were more subdued as they played their games. Daryl found it stifling, as if they believed he was heading towards his death rather than going out in search for the key to their survival. It was all he could do not to bristle every time someone gave him a sad look. He was starting to think he hated those worse than the looks of disgust he was subjected to pretty much his whole life.

There was a brief distraction when Hess abruptly announced that he would be leaving. "I was never attached to the idea of stayin' here permanently," he said with a shrug, "You guys don't need me using up water, plus I'm sure Morgan and Duane 'll be happy to have a little more space in the room we've all been sharing." There was very little in the way of commotion with Hess's leaving, which was how he preferred it. The only people he really said goodbye to were Duane, Morgan, and Lia.

"Any idea where you might be going?" Lia asked him.

Hess shook his head. "Nah. I don't really plan ahead. I prefer to play it by ear, pick a random direction and see where it takes me."

"Well, wherever you go, I hope you get there in one piece."

Her concern for his safety touched him. Hess squeezed Lia's shoulder in gratitude, much to Daryl's annoyance, then took up his pack and guitar case and slipped away. No fanfare or fuss, he just left.

Three days later, it was Daryl's turn. It almost came as a relief.

Daryl wasn't at all surprised to wake up and discover Sally squeezed in between him and Lia. She knew he was leaving - it was all anyone talked about lately - but though Lia and Nana tried to explain, Sally didn't really understand why he had to go. It saddened him to think the little girl would feel abandoned. She'd already experienced far too much tragedy in her short life. He stared at the sleeping toddler huddled against his chest, reluctant to disentangle himself even though he wanted to get an early start on his first day of travel. Her tiny fists clutched the front of his undershirt, as if even in her sleep she was trying to keep him there.

Reluctantly, he gripped the child's shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. "Hey," he murmured, "Wake up, little bit."

Sally shifted, but remained stubbornly asleep. Daryl sighed and stroked her downy black hair. That nameless sense that told him when he was being watched directed his eyes towards a wide-awake Lia, who offered him a sad smile. She reached out and gently pulled Sally away from him, waking the child in the process. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you gotta wake up now."

"No," the girl sulked, rubbing her eyes with her little fists. Right now she was just pouting, but once Daryl got ready to leave, she would cry, and he hated the thought. He hated those rare times when Sally wept because he had no idea how to deal with it. He could handle himself in situations that made most people run for the hills, but in the face of one upset toddler he was utterly helpless. Lia, however, never lost her cool. It wasn't that she was unaffected, she just didn't let her emotions hold her back.

She kissed Sally's forehead. "None of us want this, sweetie, but it's gonna happen. I know you're too young to understand why, and that's okay. You're gonna be sad, and that's okay, too. Just remember that me and your daddy love you very, very much."

The way she said that made Daryl frown in thought. Lia saw the question in his eyes, but neither of them said anything. They got out of bed, Lia carrying Sally, and made their way downstairs. Though it was early, everyone was already up and about so they could say their goodbyes a little later. For now there was breakfast with a side of tensely casual conversation. Listening in here and there, Daryl realized people were talking about everything except the fact that he was leaving on a very dangerous journey.

The first time he heard the phrase "elephant in the room," Daryl thought that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. But now he could appreciate how appropriate that statement was. The way everybody skirted around the subject of his departure, which seemed to loom over all their heads, really was like pretending a huge pachyderm hadn't just parked its ass right in the middle of the crowded lobby. It was so ridiculous he almost laughed...except he was doing it, too. Leaving for what could be weeks was harder than he ever expected. It wasn't just the thought of leaving Lia and Sally behind, it was Nana, Jessie, Glenn, T-Dog, Marco - hell, even Shane! Somewhere along the line he stopped being the outsider, only he hadn't seen it until now, moments before he was about to leave. And if something happened to him, he'd never see them again.

The moment came. Breakfast was eaten. Daryl got up to collect the pack he'd prepared the night before as well as his crossbow. Lia's touch on his arm halted him. "I'll get it," she said quietly, "You go ahead and say your goodbyes."

He nodded and watched her head up the stairs, then he did as she suggested. Most of the goodbyes were brief, silent nods or handshakes. Nana embraced him, whispering in his ear, "No foolish risks. You get yourself back here for Sally's sake. Another loss would break her."

Daryl nodded, not trusting his voice. Putting his arms around the old woman, he felt how thin and frail her bones really were, like a bird's. How could someone so fragile possess the strength of character he knew she had?

Lia appeared with his pack and crossbow dangling from one hand. From the other she held her bow, and strapped to her back was another pack. Daryl's suspicions about what she said to Sally earlier was confirmed. Her gaze was level as she said, "I thought I could convince myself to let you go. I tried, but I can't. I've already packed my things and said my goodbyes. I knew you'd fight me on this, so I did it all on the sly. This is happening, Daryl. You're not leaving without me."

Daryl wasn't angry, he was relieved. The hardest part of going was the thought of leaving her behind. He just wasn't as self-sufficient as he used to be. He _needed_ Lia, and spending all that time separated from her would have hurt too much. He took his pack and crossbow from her, slung the pack over his shoulders, then reached out with his free hand and cupped the back of Lia's head, holding her steady as he planted a bruising kiss on her lips. "Guess that means I'm finally gonna go along with yer buddy system."

Lia gave a weak laugh, grateful not to have to argue her case.

Even though she already said her goodbyes earlier, she did so again. It was far more emotional than when Daryl said his farewells, and he wasn't surprised or bothered by this. Lia was loved by everyone here, especially the children. There were sobs and tears exchanged with hugs. Lia's cheeks were wet and her eyes red by the time she managed to pull herself away. It was hard for Daryl to see her like that, knowing how hard this was for her. The fact that she was willing to put herself through this kind of pain for his sake made him love her all the more.

As they started to walk away, a tiny figure suddenly broke from the group and rushed towards them. "Mommy! Daddy!" Sally threw herself against their legs, holding on for all she was worth.

Lia gently tried to extricate herself from the toddler's grip. "We hafta go, baby. I'm sorry, but we have to."

"No! Don't go! Please, please," the child sobbed, breaking her adoptive parents' hearts, "I'll be good. Please don't go."

Daryl's eyes stung as he carefully pried the little girl loose and lifted her. Her thin arms wrapped around his neck and she clung to him so tightly it was hard to breathe. "We love ya," he whispered in her ear, "Don't ever forget that, sweet pea. I promise we'll come back."

Nana stepped forward to take the girl from him. Sally resisted, but wasn't strong enough to hold on. For as long as anyone had known her, she was always such a silent little girl. Now she wailed as the older woman pulled her away, crying so hard the adults feared she might make herself sick (and she did, suffering a fever all the next day). It was all Lia and Daryl could do to make themselves turn and walk away when all they wanted to do was run back. Sally's heartbreaking sobs followed them for what seemed like an eternity. "Mommy! Daddy! _Mooommeeee! Daaaddeee!_"

Lia put her hands over her ears while fresh tears streamed down her face. Daryl couldn't even look at her or utter a word of comfort. His throat felt like it was full of glass splinters. He stared resolutely ahead, ignoring the way the landscape blurred. One hand reached out and rested on Lia's shoulder. It was the best he could manage, since the pack was in the way.


	8. Melancholy Night

**A/N:** Sorry it took so long to update. Stupid writer's block struck again. But now I think I'm back on track and ready to start posting on a more regular basis. This chapter's a bit short, but I'll be posting something longer soon enough. Thanks for your patience!

From here the story diverges between Lia and Daryl on their search and those they left behind at the office building.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead _in any way whatsoever.**

Lia didn't pay much attention to where they were going. The sorrow of leaving her extended adopted family behind hurt more than she expected, and she'd expected it to hurt a lot. It took most of her concentration just to keep from collapsing in tears. She left the trailblazing to Daryl, simply following his lead. She did pay enough attention to her surroundings to be sure nothing tried to sneak up on them, however. Even despondent, she wasn't about to risk her or Daryl's life by being careless. So far they'd already killed five walkers, three of them together in a small group. They were bound to run into larger mobs of dead sooner or later as they traveled.

They'd left their familiar hunting grounds behind hours ago. Now they relied on the maps Daryl studied and his keen sense of direction (aided by a compass, of course) to guide them. As planned, they stuck to the wilderness, figuring most bands of possibly dangerous survivors would stick to the roads and towns for their familiarity. The last thing they wanted was a confrontation.

Lia thought she was in pretty good shape, having gone with Daryl on numerous hunting trips before, spending hours hiking through rough terrain. But even with regular breaks, she was exhausted by the time afternoon rolled around. Everything ached, feet, legs, back and shoulders from carrying a heavy pack all day. The signature Georgia heat didn't help, either. Her body was drenched in sweat. She felt disgusting. And they couldn't even spare any water for washing.

Daryl paused in yet another small clearing and looked around with an air of speculation. It was late enough in the day they needed to think about finding somewhere to shelter for the night. This clearing seemed as good a spot as any.

"We'll camp here," he said, unslinging his pack.

Lia nodded and removed her own backpack with a groan of relief, rolling the kinks from her aching shoulders. Daryl glanced at her, most of his attention on rummaging through his pack. While there were all kinds of portable tents gathering dust on sporting goods store shelves, Daryl felt they were more hassle than they were worth, mostly due to the added weight. He and Lia were burdened enough as it was. In all the years he spent hunting on his own for long periods of time, he never brought anything more complicated than a tarp to keep the rain off, and so he stuck to that tried and true option. He even found a handy natural frame to hang it from; an old tree had toppled over at some point, probably after a storm. Daryl draped the tarp over a long jutting branch, staking down both ends to create a rudimentary triangular shelter. The fallen tree's broad trunk acted as a back wall, leaving only one side open to the elements.

Lia smirked at the sight. "Looks like the make-believe tents the kids build in their rooms out of blankets and broom handles."

"Don't knock it," Daryl said defensively, "I spent plenty o' nights in shelters like this."

"I'm sure you did." Her mild joke fell a little flat, her heart just wasn't in it.

Daryl met her gaze. "Havin' second thoughts about comin' along?" There was no anger in his tone. If Lia changed her mind and decided to go back, he'd understand. Part of him would even be relieved, knowing she was in a safer place.

She shook her head. "I made up my mind. I just miss the others is all," she laughed ruefully, "Only been gone one day and I already miss them."

"It ain't too late fer you t' turn around-"

"I'm not going back," Lia stated firmly, "Not without you. And you're not about to give up after one lousy day of hiking, so I guess I'm stuck out here."

Daryl smiled and put his free arm around her, his other hand still clutching his crossbow. He hugged her close and murmured in her ear, "It'll get easier."

Lia rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh. "I don't wanna be a complainer."

"Shit, you weren't complainin'," he scoffed, "Been so damn quiet I was startin' t' worry."

"Worried about me? That's sweet." Lia kissed the side of his neck, in that spot that always made him shiver. She licked her lips, tasting his sweat, then reluctantly stepped out of his embrace so they could continue to set up camp. Lia spread their sleeping bags under the shelter, then helped Daryl gather wood for a fire. Daryl built up a circle of stones and earth to conceal the flames from prying eyes, then lit the kindling. Lucky for them, there was no shortage of disposable lighters yet.

Most of the food they brought was dry packaged rather than canned to cut down on weight. They hung their one cooking pot from a makeshift frame over the fire, poured in some water and Ramen noodles, and waited for it to simmer.

"College cuisine," Lia muttered, sitting with knees drawn up and chin propped in her hands, watching steam rise from the pot.

Daryl snorted. "Hell, I lived offa stuff like this 'n' I never went t' college." He saw Lia fighting back a snide grin and smirked. "I know, hard t' believe." He was gratified to hear her quiet laugh.

"You weren't missing much," Lia said, "I hated college."

Daryl gazed at her across the campfire, curious. "What'd ya study?"

She shrugged. "Well, first it was accounting. A good, respectable career choice that my dad approved of. Only it bored the hell outta me. So then I tried journalism, but that didn't pan out too well...mainly because I called my professor a chauvinistic prick."

Daryl laughed.

"Well, he was!" she insisted, laughing as well, "I finally settled on creative writing, what my dad called a starving-artist profession. I was gonna write the great American novel." She rolled her eyes. "Best I could do was get a few short stories published in these little indie magazines nobody heard of. I had to hold down two part time jobs to pay the bills."

Daryl was shocked by this revelation. He'd always envisioned Lia as something of a business suit type before the walkers came, but now he found out she was just scraping by, same as him.

Seeing his expression, Lia tilted her head and asked, "Are you disappointed?"

"No," he quickly answered, "Just surprised. I mean, yer smart. Y' coulda done _anything_."

"I could say the same about you," she retorted.

Daryl shook his head, a scowl creasing his face. "Not trailer trash like me."

Lia's expression turned deadly serious. "Don't say that. People owe their lives to you. You're out here risking your life right now to save everyone back home, and I know you'll succeed. You're not trash."

Daryl lowered his gaze, uncomfortable with her praise even as he loved her for it. Sensing his discomfort, Lia craned her neck to peer into the pot. "I guess dinner's ready."

They moved the pot away from the fire and set it down on a flat stone to cool for a few minutes. Lia added some dried herbs and crumbled dried beef she'd brought along to give the noodles a little more flavor, then they ladled some into their wide metal cups and dug in.

The physical weariness combined with a full stomach made Lia sleepy right away. Daryl watched her struggle not to nod off for an amused moment, then gently urged her to lie down in the shelter. "I'll take first watch," he told her.

Lia didn't even try to argue. She crawled under the tarp shelter, removed her shoes and set them aside, and lay down on her sleeping bag. Daryl doused the fire's last embers so it wouldn't screw with his night vision, then settled down to keep watch for possible danger. A few minutes later he heard the muffled sounds of Lia weeping and his throat tightened. He wanted to rush in and comfort her, but the way she tried to stifle it, he knew she'd rather be left alone for now. Daryl did his best to tune out her sobs and focus on their surroundings. The sky was clear, a gibbous moon shone its pale light down on the clearing, insects and night creatures chirped and scuttled. It was a beautiful night.

* * *

><p>Nana Shino didn't have to look far to find where Sally disappeared to. The little girl lay curled up on the mattress Lia and Daryl had shared, thumb firmly lodged in her mouth. Nana set her lantern down and crawled onto the mattress, hugging the child to her. "I miss them, too, sweetheart," she murmured, stroking the girl's fine dark hair, "But they'll come back. It may take some time, but they'll come home."<p>

Sally didn't answer. She hadn't said a word since she cried herself hoarse that morning. Her silent suffering brought everyone's mood even lower. There was an almost funereal air about the place. Nana knew spirits would rise over time - even Sally's - but the knowledge didn't make this situation any less painful.

"Do you want to sleep here tonight? Hmm?"

Sally slowly nodded her head. Nana smiled and kissed her temple. "Alright then. I think I'll stay with you, if that's okay."

Sally's answer was to turn over and wrap her thin arms around the old woman's waist, burying her face against Nana's chest. The two of them spent the night snuggled close, taking whatever comfort they could from each other.

In another room, Rick watched as Lori brushed her hair before bed. Their son lay on a futon mattress at the opposite side of the room, already sound asleep.

"You've been quiet today," Rick remarked.

Lori replied, "Everybody's been quiet." But there was something in her voice, something Rick remembered from that dark period before he got shot, when it seemed their marriage was headed for a hard end. Anger and resentment left unspoken, waiting to explode when the silence became unbearable.

Rick walked up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. "I was gonna say no."

Lori frowned, pausing mid-brush. She turned her head to peer at her husband over her shoulder. "What?"

"When Daryl asked if I was volunteering to go with him," Rick explained, "I was gonna tell him no."

Lori twisted her body to look at him face-on. "You're serious? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

Rick put his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. "I spent years bein' the hero, running off to danger when I thought the cause was right. I put my principles ahead of everything, even you and Carl, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry you thought I didn't love you enough."

Lori swallowed around a lump in her throat. "What changed?"

A moment passed before he answered, slow and careful. "We almost died 'cause of what I thought was right. I dragged you all away from this safe place and we were almost killed for it. Watchin' you and Carl starve right in front of me-"

"That wasn't your fault," his wife insisted, "We all decided to leave. _All_ of us, not just you. We all share responsibility for what happened to us."

Rick kissed the top of her head. "Still, my priorities have changed since then. No more heroics that'll leave my family behind." He rested a hand on her growing belly. "No more unnecessary risks. I wanna be around to see our kids grow up. See us get old and gray and wrinkled together."

Lori chuckled, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. "Um, back when we were fighting," she bit her lip, "I only got mad at you because it felt easier to handle than being scared all the time."

"I know, baby. I'll do everything I can not to put you through that again, I promise."

Lori drew back just enough to meet his lips with hers.

* * *

><p>The feral pack had watched that morning as the couple made their way through the woods. Days of good hunting left the dogs stronger and more alert than when they first arrived. They probably could have taken the two humans down without much trouble, but Turk was wary of the man. He had a predatory look to him, the way his eyes constantly scanned his surroundings and his hands clutched what Turk guessed was a weapon, though he only had a canine's vague notion of such things. The pack alpha finally decided to err on the side of caution and let the two humans be.<p>

The dogs were getting bolder as their strength grew. They didn't run and hide as fast whenever the occasional hunting party happened by. It wouldn't be long before someone noticed their presence, if they didn't suspect already. Once that happened, confrontation was inevitable. Turk knew this, at an instinctual level. The fight for territory was as old as time. Turk was not about to let this prime hunting ground go.

As added incentive, Whitefoot, the female German shepherd, would soon be giving birth to a litter of puppies she and Turk sired together. The pack was growing, and they would need every resource the woods could provide for their survival. And not even the humans would be allowed to get in the way of that survival.


	9. Chance Encounter

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_. I do not own them, I said!**

If anything in this little community of survivors could be considered mandatory, it was archery practice. Initially, it was just with stationary targets, but Glenn came up with a clever idea for making moving targets. He led a small group into the city to collect some mannequins from a department store and rigged them to stand on skateboards. They were then pulled along on long tethers so that those who dragged them along would remain out of the line of fire. These comical targets could be moved at different speeds and weaving trajectories to simulate the variety of geek mobility to be found. It wasn't long before the poor mannequins' heads started looking like Swiss cheese from all the arrows shot at them.

Marilyn loved target practice. She loved the playful competitiveness that sprang up between archers and she loved the surge of pride and self-confidence she experienced every time her arrows hit their mark with a satisfying _thock_. Not even her jutting, pregnant belly - with accompanying achy back and swollen ankles - dampened her enthusiasm. But what she enjoyed most was practicing with her husband. Shane always challenged her to see who hit the most targets, and two out of three times Marilyn beat him, yet he never got mad about losing. They treated it like a game, laughing the whole time, heckling and praising each other in turn. They even placed bets: foot rubs, back massages, private dinners in their room - things they would've done anyway, but found it more fun to compete for first. Sometimes they drew quite a crowd with their antics.

"C'mon, Shane!" T-Dog bellowed from the onlookers clustered a short distance away, "I got a six pack ridin' on ya!"

"You're fooling yourself, Dog," Andrea chided, "That six pack's all mine!"

Shane grinned and waved to the crowd, which whooped and cheered in enthusiasm. He then readied his bow and turned his attention to the targets in front of him. There were three mannequins set up with their tethers strung through a makeshift pulley system to make them weave and sway as they approached. The objective was to take out all three fake geeks with the fewest shots before they crossed a white line in the dirt marked "Dead End." Three youngsters held the ends of the tethers, the ropes more than long enough to ensure their safety from any shots that might go wild. They braced themselves as Sally, perched on Rick's shoulders, got ready to wave the little American flag she'd been given for the occasion.

A little over a week after Lia's and Daryl's departure, the toddler's spirits were finally lifting, much to everyone's relief. The moments when she cried over their absence became less frequent and she smiled more and more often. It probably helped that everyone went out of their way to reassure her that Daryl and Lia _would_ return, and that they still loved her. It wasn't abandonment. It was only a temporary separation.

"Get ready," Rick said. Sally raised her flag. "Get set. Go!" The flag flapped like a frantic bat wing. The three youngsters surged forward and the make-believe walkers lurched towards their intended "victim." They actually moved faster than any real walker they'd encountered, but nobody argued the point. What mattered was that everyone learn to shoot moving targets quickly and accurately, so that they would be prepared when they came across the real thing.

Shane's first arrow struck the lead mannequin. Unfortunately, it missed the head and lodged in the neck, which didn't count. Shane quickly nocked another arrow and drew back the bow, successfully hitting the mannequin's forehead this time. Marilyn, seated in a comfortable chair that had been brought out for her, clapped and cheered her husband on, even though he was technically her competitor. In the end, Shane managed to "kill" all three targets with a total of five arrows. He bowed to the spectators, accepting their accolades with a modest grin that fooled no one. He turned to his wife and his grin turned smug. "Let's see ya beat _that_," he challenged.

Marilyn flashed a confident smile and struggled to hoist herself out of the chair. She slapped away the hand Shane held out to her and he backed away with a chuckle, both hands held up in a gesture of surrender. The faux walkers were reset, a flurry of bets were made, and the go signal given.

Marilyn's first arrow hit its mark, as did her second. On her third attempt, she winced and the arrow bounced off the mannequin's chest, but she made up for it with her fourth and final shot.

T-Dog groaned in defeat. Andrea patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. "Will you never learn?"

"I figured the man was due!" he despaired. He gave the blonde woman an apologetic look. "I'm gonna need some time t' get that six pack I owe ya."

Andrea gave his shoulder a final pat. "Your credit's good with me."

Shane sauntered over to his wife and put his arms around her thick waist. "Well, ya beat me again."

"I could really use that massage, too," she sighed tiredly, "My back's killing me."

Shane smiled in that sensual way that always made her blush so cutely. "No time like the present, then." He put his arm around her slender shoulders and gently led her towards the building.

In their room, Marilyn lay on her side while her husband knelt behind her, applying pressure with knuckles and fingers to just the right spots to elicit the occasional moan of relief. This was one of those days where being pregnant really wore her down. It wasn't long before Shane's ministrations brought her to within a hair of dozing off.

"Feel better, baby?" Shane murmured.

Marilyn nodded sleepily, eyes closed. "Thanks for taking care of me."

"I love takin' care of you." He lay himself down behind her, his arm draped over her middle, hand resting on her belly. "Just a couple more months."

Marilyn smiled. "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby." He kissed the side of her neck. Soon her breaths slowed, telling him she was asleep. Their unborn child shifted beneath his palm. Shane smiled in contentment.

* * *

><p>One week out and so far they found a bone-dry stream bed and an alligator-infested pond. Now Lia and Daryl stood along the muddy shore of a creek that, in rainier seasons, might have been ideal, but was now reduced to a mere trickle.<p>

"Least there's enough for us to wash up," Lia said wearily. Even though she knew Daryl didn't mind, there were moments when Lia felt paranoid over the fact that she hadn't had a proper bath since they left home. They barely had enough water to keep themselves hydrated so far.

Something rustled in the bushes to their right. The couple immediately raised their weapons. Seconds later a spindly figure tumbled out of the foliage and landed in a bony heap on the ground. And _bony_ was right. What flesh remained on the walker was shriveled and leathery. Its nose, lips, and eyes were long gone. A few wisps of hair clung to the dome of its skull. What once were clothes were now tattered rags hanging from its skeletal frame. Its torso was devoid of flesh, Lia could see every one of its ribs and even the spine.

"How the hell can that thing still be moving?" she asked in amazement, watching the sad creature slowly get to its feet. Its skull swiveled on its thin neck, some unknown sense homing in on the two living people. It tottered a couple of unsteady steps towards them, then collapsed as Lia's club pulverized the top of its head. "Sorry," she muttered to the jumbled remains.

She and Daryl dragged the body away, then set up camp beside the trickle. Once everything was to their satisfaction, they dug out a bar of soap, shed their clothes, and indulged in a thorough scrubbing which left them both feeling more human afterwards.

"Y'know," Lia mused while they dressed, "I figured this adventure of ours would be more...adventurous."

Daryl gave her a puzzled frown. "What d'ya mean?"

She smiled, shook her head. "Well, I mean, aside from a few walkers nothing's really happened."

Daryl smirked. "What? You were hopin' fer a firefight with some gang?"

"No! I just didn't expect everything to be so, I dunno, peaceful. We haven't seen one living person yet."

"That's 'cuz everybody's dead."

"Yeah," she sighed, glancing in the direction of where they dumped the body. "You'd think a world with almost no people in it would be a lot safer. Think we'll be able to find a place?"

Sensing what she needed from him, Daryl drew her into a comforting hug. "We'll find a place."

Lia rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm still homesick. I keep thinking about everybody back home, wondering if they're okay."

Daryl didn't offer any trite reassurances. Instead, he buried his nose in her hair and breathed in her scent. "Y' smell good."

"Sure, _now_," she chuckled. She drew back just enough to meet his blue eyes with hers. "We've barely even kissed since we left home," she said wistfully.

Daryl grinned. "I'm game if you are."

Lia winced in regret. "I don't think I'm up for it right now. I'm sorry."

"'S okay." He curled one of her braids around his finger. "We both gotta lot on our minds."

"I just wish we could get this all over with." Lia's eyes turned towards the all but dried-up stream and its false promise of hope.

Another rustle, this time from the opposite shore. The couple sighed in annoyance and picked up their weapons. "Pain in th' ass," Daryl muttered, aiming his crossbow.

The source of the noise stumbled out into the open, wide-eyed and holding up both hands. "Whoa! Don't shoot!"

Lia gasped and abruptly lowered her bow. "Andrew?"

Hess nodded, glancing warily at Daryl who had yet to fully lower his crossbow.

"What th' fuck 're you doin' here?" Daryl spat, not at all pleased to see him.

"What's it look like? I'm travelin', same as you."

"You followin' us?"

"Hey, I left _first_," Hess reminded him, "Maybe I should ask if _you're_ following _me_." He smiled and winked at Lia. "It's okay to admit you missed me."

Lia laughed, which didn't help Daryl's mood. "Fuck off. This's our campsite."

Lia threw him an admonishing look. "Knock it off. We could use another pair of eyes. I'm sick of spending half the night keeping watch."

"You might be pals with 'im," Daryl whispered harshly in reply, "but I don't trust that asshole. He could turn on us any second."

"Hey, look," Hess spoke up, "I'm fine with moving on. I'm obviously not wanted here and I don't wanna crimp anybody's style."

"No, it's fine," Lia said quickly, "You can stay."

Daryl's mouth fell open. "What th' hell-"

"This way you can keep an eye on him," she reasoned, grinning at his discomfiture, "Or would you rather let him disappear into the wilderness, maybe meet up with some bandit friends of his and tell 'em where we are?"

Daryl gave her a dirty look. "You shouldn't make fun of a man fer bein' cautious."

"I know," she said without a trace of apology.

"Fine," he grumbled, "He c'n stay." He pointed a warning finger at Hess. "But you keep yer damn distance. Understand?"

"Yessir." Hess flashed his most charming grin. It was wasted on Daryl, who stormed off muttering something about collecting firewood. Hess hopped across the narrow stream and joined Lia in the campsite. "Still no luck finding a water source?"

She indicated the weak trickle. "This is the best we've found so far. Not nearly good enough."

"No worries. You'll find something."

Lia decided to change the subject. "So, what've you been up to? You left days ahead of us. I would've thought you'd me miles ahead."

Hess shrugged out of his heavy pack and set it down, using it for a makeshift seat. "I don't really have anything urgent like you two. I've mostly been kicking around, seeing what all's out here."

"I don't suppose you ran into any convenient lakes or rivers," Lia asked with a smirk, seating herself a few feet away from him.

"Nope. Sorry. Would've mentioned it first thing otherwise."

Daryl arrived with an armload of dead wood, which he promptly dumped in a pile between them. He turned and headed back out in search of more. Hess and Lia exchanged amused glances.

"That guy definitely follows the school of thought that three's a crowd," Hess stated.

Lia replied, "He doesn't trust you."

"Yeah, I got that." He tilted his head, his expression coy. "What about you? D'you trust me?"

Lia opened her mouth to answer, then closed it with a chagrined look.

Hess smirked. "Uh huh. Thought so."

"I like you, Andrew," Lia hastened to assure him, "And I don't believe you're a threat... I'm just not a hundred percent sure of it."

"Least you're honest about it."

It was late evening by the time they got a fire going and heated some dinner. Hess made a point of staying on the opposite side from the couple, respecting boundaries. After they ate, he got out his guitar and started strumming a quiet tune. "I can take the first watch," he offered.

Lia expected Daryl to refuse, but to her surprise he accepted and went to curl up beside her in the sleeping bag.

"I bet you're gonna try and stay awake so you can watch him in case he does something suspicious," she said. In the flickering glow of the campfire, she saw Daryl smile. He gently caressed her cheek with his rough hand.

"I ain't ever gonna trust him, Lia. No matter how much you like him."

"I understand," she murmured, "It's kinda weird running into him out here. Maybe it's just coincidence, or maybe..." She shrugged. "We'll just hafta be careful like always."

Daryl kissed her. "Get some sleep. You wanna be rested when his cannibal buddies come t' slit our throats."

Lia giggled. "That's awful."

"G'night, Lia."

"Night." She closed her eyes. The light strains of Hess's guitar and the comfort of Daryl's arms around her soon lulled her to sleep.


	10. The Killing Ground

**A/N:** Hope I managed to make this exciting enough for you guys. Thanks for reading! :-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_. Would I lie?**

Duane and Carl chattered companionably as they trotted ahead of the group, carrying a half-filled basket between them. They and a handful of other youngsters were out gathering edible plants. All of them had clubs or some other weapon to defend themselves should they run into stray walkers. Dale, Morgan, and Carol were also with them, both for protection and to stretch their legs for a while. Carol and Morgan each had a bow, while Dale - who never really caught on to archery - had his trusty hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. The understanding was that the gun would only be used as a last resort, to avoid drawing attention with its noise.

"Don't get too far ahead, now," Morgan chided the boys, smiling at how carefree his son looked. Duane and Carl had become fast friends in the short time they'd gotten to know each other. It was good to see children who'd survived the plague of the dead act like kids again, even while doing tasks they never would've done before the world and its technology ended. Morgan was amazed by how well they'd adapted, and how quickly this place had become home to him and his son. Too bad they would all have to leave it soon, but with luck they would have a destination when the time came, instead of wandering from one dangerous unknown to the next.

Carol drifted to his side, her eyes watching the kids with the attentiveness of an experienced mother. "Dale mentioned it might rain later," she said conversationally, "Said he felt it in his knees."

Morgan smiled, creating deep grooves in his cheeks and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "That'd be a relief. We could all use a shower."

Carol chuckled. "That we could."

Such was the nature of their conversations. Harmless, impersonal topics. Morgan's wife used to do volunteer work at a battered women's shelter. He knew how to read the signs of abuse in Carol and her daughter, though they'd obviously come a long way since Ed died. Morgan liked Carol, felt more comfortable with her than he had with any woman since he lost his wife. He was fine with taking things slow, giving them all time to heal. He wanted them to feel safe with him, to understand that he would never harm them like the previous man in their life had.

"Daddy?" His son's voice drew his attention away from the woman beside him and towards the children ahead. They stood in a cluster around something that got their attention. Morgan and the other two adults quickened their pace to close the distance between them. The kids made room for them so they could see what had grabbed their curiosity. On a clear patch of ground were the faint yet unmistakable signs of paw prints.

"Are they wolves?" a nervous Sophia asked, wide-eyed as she reached for her mother's hand.

Dale answered with his usual calm demeanor, "More likely dogs. Big ones."

Several young faces lit up. "If we find 'em, can we keep 'em?" Carl asked, his question followed by eager nods and pleases.

Morgan shook his head, lips pursed in concern. "If they're still alive, they musta gone wild. They'd be just as dangerous as wolves and probably wouldn't have a problem attackin' people."

This sobered the youngsters. A few of them threw anxious glances at the surrounding woods, as if a slavering pack might ambush them at any moment.

"So one more thing to keep a lookout for," Carol sighed with a touch of weariness. Morgan lightly touched her shoulder. She smiled at the comforting gesture.

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Dale said, "Long as we stick to going out in groups like we've been doing."

"And watch the little ones like hawks," Carol added firmly. She shuddered at the idea of the large predators going after someone as small and vulnerable as Sally or Aidan.

Dale nodded. "Soon as we get back, we'll let everyone know about these tracks."

They continued their foraging, a little more wary than before.

Meanwhile, the twins, Casey and Cadence, walked through a different part of the woods, checking the snares that had been left out. Already the sack Cadence carried bulged with several small animals and even a couple of birds. A good haul. T-Dog trailed along behind them, absently swinging the aluminum baseball bat he carried as his weapon of choice. Every once in a while he saw the girls exchange a few odd hand signals with each other. The gestures were meaningless to him. Many identical twins developed their own private language, called twinspeak, as children, which they usually outgrew. The apocalypse had encouraged Casey and Cadence to revive the practice, only with hand signs instead of sounds. It helped them survive in the dead-infested city before Lia and Nana took them in, and they continued to use it whenever they were on their own - or almost on their own. T-Dog knew they resented having a grownup accompany them. A lot of the older kids felt they were more than capable of looking out for themselves. The adults disagreed, however, since Daryl pointed out there were more than slow-moving geeks out in the woods. So the buddy system was recently modified to include at least one adult with every group of kids who went out into the wilderness to hunt or forage. T-Dog sympathized with the kids, who he knew for a fact were way tougher than he was at their age, and if keeping him out of their conversation with funny hand signals soothed their bruised egos, he figured more power to them.

Casey froze when she found the next snare and saw what remained of the rabbit caught in it. Pretty much everything but the feet and head were gone, chewed up until only bloody bones and fur remained. She looked at her sister and signed, _Walker?_

Cadence frowned and pointed at the bloody paw prints on the ground. _Not walker,_ she signed back_._

T-Dog, wondering what had them so enthralled, opened his mouth to ask them what they'd found. Then he glimpsed something big and fast coming at them and his question turned into a shout of alarm.

Cadence felt something slam into her and found herself on the ground. It happened so fast all she could do was hold the gunnysack between her and whatever was on top of her. The sack jerked in her hands and there was a loud ripping sound and angry snarls. Cadence screamed in terror. She heard her sister yelling and saw Casey trying to beat her attacker away with her bow, but the thing just growled even louder. Then T-Dog was there, swinging his bat. There was a loud thud, a yelp, and Cadence could move again. She scrambled to her feet and backed away, heart racing.

T-Dog swung his bat at the hulking white pit bull again. This time the animal dodged out of the way. It snarled and barked, spittle flying from its jaws. The sight was so intimidating T-Dog didn't see the second dog coming at him until it was almost too late. He just barely managed to knock the animal aside. The large black doberman/lab mix landed with a grunt and quickly regained its feet. It bared its teeth and growled. T-Dog saw movement in the corners of his eyes and realized there were more than just two dogs. There was a whole pack of them.

"Run!" he shouted at the girls. They didn't hesitate, they sped off, T-Dog lumbering behind them. The barks of the pursuing dogs were close behind and getting nearer by the second. They couldn't hope to outrun them. T-Dog pointed at a sturdy tree and the three of them hurried to it. He practically flung the girls into the lowermost branches, then spun to face the oncoming pack. There was no time for him to climb to safety, assuming he could even haul his bulky self up that tree. He pressed his back against the tree's broad trunk and held the baseball bat at the ready.

The first to reach him was a German shepherd with a white front paw. It barely managed to swerve away in time to avoid the bat's swing. T-Dog's aggression made the pack think twice about rushing him. They hung back, barking and growling. Up in the tree, the twins readied their bows. Casey fired first, her arrow striking home in the side of the white pit bull that had attacked her sister. The dog yowled in pain and lurched away. But instead of deterring the others, its wounding prompted a massive russet-furred mutt to leap forward and sink its teeth into T-Dog's forearm. The man yelled and smacked his bat against the animal's back, but was unable to dislodge it. Another dog, the black mixed breed, took the opportunity to jump him from behind and bite down on his shoulder.

"Goddamn it, you motherfuckers!" T-Dog lunged backward, slamming the second dog's head against the tree trunk again and again until it finally let go. The black dog staggered away from him, shaking its head.

The German shepherd cried out as an arrow struck its hip. T-Dog finally managed to knock the mutt from his arm and held the snarling animal at bay with his bat and a lot of shouted abuse. Another arrow just missed a smaller brown pit bull, who darted away with its tail between its legs.

So caught up were they in their battle, none noticed the walker stumble out from the cover of the trees until the creature literally fell onto the injured white pit bull and tore a huge chunk from the back of the dog's neck. The pit bull screamed. T-Dog gaped at this. He didn't even know that dogs _could_ scream.

More walkers staggered into view, drawn by the noise and the smell of blood. The rest of the dogs' barking became frantic, the sounds almost drowned out by the geeks' hungry moans. The white pit bull was quickly lost beneath a writhing pile of the dead.

The twins scrambled down from the tree and they and T-Dog made a run for it. The surviving pack ran off in the opposite direction, the injured German shepherd limping, but still able to keep up. Soon all that was left was a horde of walkers wandering aimlessly around a pile of gnawed bones that was once a dog.

* * *

><p>If Daryl was unhappy with Hess tagging along, he <em>really<em> hated it once he got a load of the guy's woodland prowess - or lack thereof. Hess seemed to go out of his way to step on every dry twig and pile of dead, crunchy leaves. Daryl would've snapped and put an arrow in the dumb shit long ago, but he kept catching these looks from Lia. Those apologetic, please-put-up-with-him-for-my-sake looks. So all he could do was grind his teeth and scowl at the world in general and Hess in particular, the latter of which ignored his homicidal glares and continued tromping noisily without a care.

"What's that sound?" Lia murmured.

Daryl came to a halt, Lia beside him. Hess walked ahead a couple of paces before he noticed and stopped, earning him another dirty look from Daryl. They all kept quiet, straining their ears for whatever Lia might have heard. A few seconds later, it reached them.

Hess blinked in surprise. "Is that...a radio?"

It definitely sounded like music, though it was too far away for any of them to make out the song.

"Who the hell would have music going that loud?" Lia asked, "They've gotta be luring every walker in the area."

"Maybe that's th' idea," Daryl said, his expression thoughtful. He started walking in the direction the music came from, the others following his lead. The music gradually got louder the closer they got to the source. Soon they were able to make out the song. It was ZZ Top.

_Give me all your loving_

_All your hugs and kisses, too_

_Give me all your loving_

_Don't let up until we're through..._

Why the hell would anyone be playing music so loud? Didn't they realize it would bring every walker for miles?

They got their answer when they crawled up a small rise - careful to lay low so as not to be seen - and found themselves looking down on a stretch of unpaved road. There was a river of walkers shuffling along it, their moans overlapping the music that blared from the speakers of a large boombox strapped to the back of an all-terrain vehicle. The ATV driver was going just fast enough to keep a relatively safe distance between him (or her) and the shambling horde.

"That's one sick Pied Piper thing they got goin' on," Hess mused.

"Where d'you think they're leading them?" Lia asked.

Daryl knew the safest choice was to leave it a mystery and get as far away from the geeks and the person luring them as possible. But he couldn't deny that his curiosity was piqued. Why _were_ they leading all those walkers along, and where the hell were they taking them? "Let's find out."

They were careful to keep themselves hidden as they followed the bizarre procession. It took quite a while, since walkers weren't exactly known for their speed. When they finally reached what appeared to be their final destination, the three onlookers' eyes widened in amazement. Stretching across the road and well past either side was a massive pit that looked deep enough to contain a herd of elephants. The rusting steel corpses of dozens of earth moving vehicles showed how it came into being. Spanning the trench was a makeshift bridge that the ATV wasted no time in crossing. There were maybe twenty people on the other side, most of them lined up along the far edge. As soon as the small vehicle was across, some of the people worked a series of pulleys that caused the bridge to rise, making it impossible for the walkers to follow. Not that they noticed, of course. Drawn on by the music that continued to play and the promise of fresh meat waiting on the other side, the horde pressed on and inevitably wound up tumbling into the pit like a herd of undead lemmings.

_She's got legs_

_She knows how to use them..._

Must be playing the band's greatest hits CD, Lia mused distractedly, watching the geeks continue to try walking on air. Had they possessed even a tiny bit of reasoning, it might've occurred to the walkers to detour _around_ the pit. But that was obviously beyond their barely functional brains. Within minutes the last few stragglers fell in. Their sad groans could still be heard rising from the massive hole.

The people on the far side didn't leave it at that, though. They had with them a several jugs with hand pumps on the tops and long nozzles running from them. They proceeded to hose the trapped walkers down with some kind of liquid.

"What're they spraying them with?" Hess wondered.

Daryl shrugged. "Kerosene, maybe?"

"Are you serious?" Lia asked, incredulous.

"'S what I'd do."

He was soon proven right. There was a flash as someone lit up a road flare and then casually tossed it into the pit. There was a faint _whoosh_ and tall flames warped the air above the trench. The fire's roar mingled with the doomed walkers' groans until the dead eventually fell silent forever.

"Holy shit!" Hess laughed in amazement.

"That's pretty ingenious," Lia declared, "Every time the walker population builds up they can just lure them out here and torch 'em before they overrun the place."

"Who are they, I wonder," Hess said.

"Don't matter who they are," Daryl responded, "We ain't lookin' fer more people, we're lookin' fer a safe place for _our_ people." He scowled at the distant figures. "And this place ain't safe."

"We should move on before they know we're here," Lia agreed, though she seemed a tad disappointed. She hated always having to err on the side of mistrust when it came to strangers. But that was the world now.

They turned their backs on the scene of carnage and continued on their journey. The stink of charred, decayed flesh followed them for the rest of the day.


	11. Hunting Party

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_. Cross my heart.**

"Sonuvabitch!" T-Dog snarled as Nana Shino and Carol tended his wounds. Most of the dog bites he sustained were on his arms. Tending to them involved a lot of hydrogen peroxide and quite a few stitches before being swathed in their dwindling supply of gauze and covered in Ace bandages until it looked like he was wearing shirtsleeves without the shirt.

"He sedda bad word," seven-year-old Tina declared. She stood in the group clustered at the door to T-Dog's and Glenn's room, all gawking at the bloodied man who minutes ago stumbled out of the woods with a frantic Casey and Cadence. The twins were the only ones besides Nana and Carol allowed inside the room (mainly because they outright refused to leave). They sat with the pile of medical supplies the women had brought, occasionally handing over items when requested.

"Those crazy goddamn mutts. Shit!"

"That's more bad words," Tina stated solemnly.

"Well, considering what he's been through," Nana said while finishing off another set of sutures, "I think we can forgive his language this once."

"Is he gonna be okay?" an anxious Cadence asked.

"I'm sure he'll be just fine," Carol soothed, "None of these look life threatening." Neither woman spoke of the possibility of rabies, though the glance they shared let them know it was on both their minds. Walkers weren't the only ones whose bites could be deadly. If the dogs were rabid, then nothing they did had any hope of saving T-Dog. They just had to hope that wouldn't be the case.

Rick spoke up from his place at the door, "Tell us again what happened, Dog."

"Man, I already told ya," the injured man snapped, "They came outta nowhere. First the big white ugly mutt, then all the rest. Must've been ten o' them bastards."

"I only saw five," Casey said, "Maybe six? But they were all big. And _mean_."

T-Dog shook his head. "I tell ya, I _never_ thought I'd be happy to see a buncha geeks comin' at us 'til today. Those dogs would've finished us if they hadn't showed."

Rick turned to Shane, standing tight-lipped beside him. "Those dogs ain't gonna stop at just one attack. They're not afraid of people anymore. They'll keep coming after whoever looks like an easy target."

Shane looked mad enough to spit nails, his usual reaction when something scared the hell out of him. "Marilyn was out in those woods yesterday," he said, his words clipped.

Rick nodded in sympathy. "Carl was out there today."

"We gotta go after 'em," Shane stated flatly, "Now. Put 'em all down before they hurt someone else. The woods ain't big enough to share. It's us and them."

Rick agreed. "We'll gather up a hunting party, go out to where the pack jumped T-Dog and the twins, and follow their trail to wherever they ran off to."

"There's walkers out there," said one of the twins.

"There's walkers everywhere," the former deputy countered, "We can handle 'em long as we don't let our guard down and watch each others' backs."

Jessie held up her hand, "I'll go."

Both men said no pretty much the same time.

"No kids," Shane said firmly, "Grownups only."

Surprisingly, Marco responded before the girl had a chance to argue, "You can't keep making us stay behind every time somethin' bad happens. How're we supposed to learn to take care of ourselves if something happens to all of you?"

Rick and Shane exchanged troubled looks. They knew he was right, they couldn't keep sheltering the kids from the world's brutalities. If they wanted to survive, they had to grow up that much quicker. A sad fact.

Rick heaved an unhappy sigh. "Alright, you and Jessie can come along. That's all. And if we tell you to hang back and let us handle things, you do it. No arguments."

The two kids nodded, satisfied.

"I'll come, too," T-Dog volunteered, "Soon as I'm done gettin' patched up here. Somebody's gotta show you where it all went down."

The men nodded, then they and the older kids went to gather up their weapons and the rest of the hunting party.

Lori watched as her husband dug out his trusty revolver and loaded it with some of the precious remaining bullets. That familiar sick feeling from knowing he was about to put himself in danger rose in her. It was a feeling that had caused her to lash out at him more than once in the past. But not this time. Not after seeing T-Dog return covered in blood and dog bites. Those animals were too dangerous to let alone, and she knew she'd never stop fearing for Carl if something wasn't done about them. Despite her deeply rooted misgivings, there was no one she trusted more to deal with this threat than Rick.

The former sheriff's deputy finished loading his Colt Python and slipped it into its holster, then picked up the bow he'd become quite adept at using lately. He walked over to his anxious wife and cupped the side of her face with his hand. "We know they're out there," he tried to reassure her, "They won't be able to get the drop on us like they did T-Dog and the twins."

Lori nodded. "Just...promise me you won't try to be the hero. Don't take any stupid risks you wouldn't let the others do."

Rick smiled and gave a single nod. "No stupid risks. Promise."

He kissed her. Lori threw her arms around his neck, holding him close as long as she could until he gently disentangled himself. Rick then went to where their son lingered by the door and gave him a hug. "I'll be back soon enough," he promised, "Don't give your mom any grief while I'm gone."

Carl nodded, "'Kay, Dad."

Rick kissed the top of his head, then put on his old deputy's hat and left the room he shared with his family. He saw Shane a few doors down saying goodbye to his wife. Marilyn was obviously struggling to keep up a brave front, but her chin trembled just a little. Rick politely looked away as the two of them kissed, then he and Shane descended the stairs together and stepped outside to meet up with the rest of the hunting party: Andrea, T-Dog, Jessie, and Marco.

"I still don't like bringin' the kids along," Shane muttered.

Rick nodded in agreement, but both knew they couldn't go back on the decision.

"We stick together," Rick announced in an authoritative tone, "No one wanders off on their own, and you three kids stick to the middle of the group."

The youngsters nodded, their expressions serious.

"Alright, then. T-Dog, lead the way."

T-Dog, his arms swathed in bandages, hands gripping the bat he'd used to defend himself before, nodded and he and the hunting party marched out into the woods.

* * *

><p>Whitefoot whined and licked at the arrow jutting from her hip while Turk paced like a caged animal. The pack ran until their keen ears no longer heard the moans of the dead chasing them and collapsed in exhaustion in the first clearing they came to. While their alpha seethed at the disaster that had befallen them, the rest of the pack made sure to stay out of his way while they rested. They all knew when Turk fell silent with rage smoldering in his eyes, the wisest course was to lay low and not draw attention to themselves. Not if they wanted to avoid receiving new scars. And well they should, because Turk was angry enough to rip someone's throat out. If the white pit bull weren't already dead, he would have.<p>

The white pit bull - who in his housepet days went by the name Moby - had always been the most impulsive member of the pack. More than once Turk had to discipline him for ruining a hunt by leaping from cover too soon and frightening the prey away. Moby would behave himself for a while after a good thrashing, but inevitably his recklessness would shine through once again. Which was exactly what happened when he attacked the three humans.

Turk had only wanted to observe them, preferring to err on the side of caution. He knew once the pack made its move against the humans, there was no going back, so they had to be absolutely certain that the greater strength lay with them. But now biding their time was no longer an option. The humans knew about the pack, knew they had no qualms about killing their former masters. And instead of being stronger, the pack was now weaker. One dead and one badly wounded.

Turk stalked over to the whimpering German shepherd, grabbed the arrow in his powerful jaws and yanked it out. Whitefoot yelped in pain. Blood oozed from the gaping hole, threatening to attract any walkers lurking nearby. She lapped up the blood quickly. Coco crept over to help. Luckily, it didn't take long for the wound to clot. So long as it didn't become infected, Whitefoot stood a good chance at recovering, and the pups she carried would still have a chance at being born.

Turk gnawed on the arrow for a while, venting his frustration. Then he let it drop to the ground and promptly forgot it. He was still angry, but brooding accomplished nothing. The mistake was made, Moby paid for it with his life, and now the rest of the pack had no choice but to deal with the repercussions.

* * *

><p>Daryl knew beyond any doubt that he'd never like Hess, but he had to admit the guy was becoming less irritating over time. For one thing, he wasn't as noisy when they traversed the woods. Though hardly what the seasoned hunter would call stealthy, Hess seldom stepped on dead twigs anymore. Also, having a third person stand guard at night gave Daryl and Lia more time to sleep together. Just like back home, as soon as he and Lia fell asleep beside each other they inevitably woke to find themselves wrapped in each other's arms. Daryl also found his dreams were much less troubled if Lia was with him. He didn't dwell on these things, mostly because if he did panic would soon follow. Panic at the thought that fate would find a way to screw him over and take her away from him, one way or another.<p>

One thing about Hess that continued to get under Daryl's skin was his chummy behavior towards Lia. The two of them would converse quietly while they journeyed, chat companionably at the evening fire, sometimes even sing a couple of songs while Hess strummed his guitar. Hess's behavior was never flirtatious. He never tried to make a move. But Daryl knew - he _knew_, dammit - that the guy still wanted Lia. Not in any emotional sense, obviously. Daryl doubted he was capable of anything like that. But then again, Daryl never thought himself capable of anything like that, either. Yet here he was, months into the longest relationship he'd ever had with the same woman with no signs of it ending anytime soon.

Daryl tried to console himself with the knowledge that they would eventually find a reliable water source and then he and Lia could head for home while Hess continued on his merry way.

They did find a water source almost halfway into their third week out, a fairly large creek, almost the size of a small river, that looked as if it flowed steady and strong even during the worst droughts. Unfortunately, it was already taken.

"Son of a bitch," Daryl growled, glaring through the binoculars at the cluster of buildings hugging the shoreline. From the looks of things, they were erected not long after the world ended. The huge machines that had built them now acted as part of the protective wall that encircled the village on all sides, save the area facing the river.

And village it was. Daryl counted five major structures along with dozens of smaller cabins and tents scattered throughout the enclosure.

"There's a lot of people down there," Lia observed through the second pair of binocs, her voice carrying a hint of awe, "Looks like almost twice as many as we got back home. Not many kids, though."

"They got a waterwheel," Daryl said, and even he couldn't hide the fact that he was impressed, "Maybe they got electricity."

Hess, saddled with the job of keeping a lookout for opportunistic walkers, uttered a sound of curiosity. "What else d'you see?"

"A few dogs running around," Lia said, then gasped, "And chickens! They've got real live chickens!" Her mouth began to water at the thought of roast bird and eggs cooked in every way imaginable. "Man, I really miss eggs."

"Maybe they'd be open to trading us some," Hess suggested.

"We ain't goin' near 'em," Daryl said, cutting off whatever Lia's response might have been.

"You think they might be the same ones who trapped all those walkers?" she asked.

He nodded. "Construction equipment's got th' same company logo as th' machines we saw 'round the pit."

"Can you imagine how organized they must be?" Lia mused, "Building all that up from scratch while the world around them was going to hell. It's incredible."

"So's what you accomplished with all those kids of yours," Hess retorted, earning a smile from Lia which in turn got a frown from Daryl. Hess held out a hand. "Can I see?"

Lia passed him her binoculars and took over as lookout while he checked out the village.

"That _is_ impressive," he said, "Y'know, they look like they'd still have plenty of room-"

"No," Daryl interjected, "I already said we ain't goin' over there."

"Okay," Hess kept his tone light, "But it doesn't look like they have that many kids. And people find it hard to turn kids away."

"Maybe before the walkers," Lia answered sadly, "But now, who knows. They could kill everyone. They could take the kids and turn the rest of us away. Or take only the girls, or make all of them into slaves. We can't know. We're safer on our own."

Hess shrugged and gave her back the binocs. "Your call. I'm just tagging along." He sighed. "I would've liked to see the place up close, though."

A faint rustle suddenly drew their attention to the woods behind them. Daryl and Lia raised their bows while Hess gripped his club and stayed out of the line of fire. A figure emerged, pale and gaunt to the point of emaciation, but far too clean to be a walker. An old-fashioned billy club dangled from his belt, but he made no move to grab it, holding his arms up in surrender instead.

"Easy, friends," he said in a calm voice, "I ain't here t' bring trouble."

Daryl was less than convinced of that. "Last time somebody said that t' me I wound up hangin' from a tree lookin' t' get butchered."

"Well, I can see how that'd bring on th' trust issues," the stranger conceded.

"You from that village out there?" Lia asked.

The skinny man nodded. "Yeah. Nice, ain't it?" he beamed like a proud father, "Me 'n' my crew built it ourselves soon as we realized the shit was goin' down."

"So, you all just happened to be way out here with all that construction equipment and building materials?" Hess asked dubiously.

The stranger fidgeted. "Look, can I put my hands down? My arms 're gettin' tired."

"Keep yer hands where we c'n see 'em," Daryl warned. He and Lia lowered their bows at the same time as he dropped his arms to his sides, but kept their guard up, ready to bring their weapons to bear should the guy try anything.

"So, what're y'all doin' out here? If ya don't mind me askin'," the man grinned pleasantly, acting for all the world as if chatting up armed intruders was normal.

Daryl's eyes scanned the area for signs of others watching them from concealment. He found it hard to believe this guy was out in the woods alone. "Just passin' through," he replied, "Mindin' our own business." _Like you should be doing_, his tone implied.

"Just the three of ya, then?" Something in the way he said that put all three companions on edge.

"You ain't alone out here, are ya," Daryl retorted.

The stranger's smile became tinged with regret. "I'm awful sorry 'bout this. But, y'know, ya can't bee too careful nowadays."

There came a series of distinctive clicks, the sounds of firearms being cocked and readied. A handful of other strangers emerged from hiding, all armed with hunting rifles aimed at the trio. Daryl cursed under his breath, looked to his side and saw the rising fear in Lia's eyes. They couldn't hope to take down more than a couple before the rest gunned them down.

"You'd best put yer weapons down," the skinny man suggested.

There really was no choice. Daryl and Lia set their bows on the ground, then added all their clubs and knives as well.

"Glad t' see yer smart enough to cooperate," the skinny man said, "I'm Dave, by the way. I get it if y'all don't wanna introduce yerselves."

"What're you gonna do with us?" Lia asked, grateful that her voice remained level.

"Well, that's up t' you now, ain't it," Dave replied. He gestured towards the village. "Start walkin'."

He gathered up their discarded weapons while his comrades escorted the three of them towards the village.

Daryl gave Hess a sour look. "Looks like yer gonna get that closer look y' wanted after all."


	12. War & Prison

**A/N:** Here's another chapter, this one a tad longer than the last and focusing a bit more on Rick, Shane, and the others. Hope y'all enjoy it. And if I don't update before the holiday, Happy Halloween! :-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, though not for lack of wishing.**

When the hunting party reached the place where T-Dog said he and the twins were attacked, they found the walkers who'd unwittingly saved them still milling around the area. Several of them had fresh blood on their faces and hands from the unfortunate dog they'd eaten. T-Dog was a little surprised to see there weren't nearly as many geeks as he'd expected. But then again, things were pretty hectic at the time. Not like it occurred to him to count them.

It only took a few minutes to put the walkers down, then the hunters set out to follow the feral dogs' tracks. Once again Rick was grateful that Daryl took the time to teach them all the basics of tracking, even though he wasn't always the most patient instructor. Still, it wasn't long before the adults realized Jessie and Marco were the most adept at reading the signs left behind on the forest floor. More than once the teens corrected them when the group started to veer off course.

"How far do you think they got?" Andrea asked, keeping her voice low.

Shane replied, equally quiet, "One of 'em was hurt. That might slow the rest down, if they don't leave it behind. They still coulda run miles off miles from here."

"They're still close enough to pose a threat," Rick muttered.

Marco paused and indicated a disturbed patch of dead leaves. "They turned here." He pointed out the direction and the group veered accordingly.

"I had a dog growin' up," T-Dog mentioned some time later, "Big ol' mutt named Titan. Name was my mamma's idea. I didn't know what it meant, but it fit him all right. He was so big I coulda ridden him like a pony." He smiled fondly in remembrance.

"My mom had a Yorkie-poo named Princess," Andrea said, "Mean little shit. The only person she wouldn't try to bite was my mother. I had to try real hard not to smile when our neighbor accidentally ran her over with his Caddy. Mom insisted on a funeral for that monster. Even had a headstone made."

Shane spoke up, getting into the spirit of things, "My grandpa had a huntin' dog named Roy. He looked all big 'n' clumsy, but when he ran," he shook his head, "that hound was the most graceful thing you ever saw."

"Never spent much time around dogs myself," Rick said.

"How come?" Jessie asked.

The former deputy smirked. "Allergies. If I get too close or spend more 'n a few minutes in a closed room with a dog, I start sneezin' and breakin' out in hives."

Jessie wrinkled her nose. "Gross."

Shane nudged his friend with his elbow. "You sure you'll be able t' shoot straight once we find 'em? Might be tricky if you're sneezin' your head off."

Rick grinned at the jibe. "I'll manage."

"Hope so," Marco said, "'Cause we're gettin' closer."

"You sure?" Andrea questioned.

The boy pointed at the ground, "These tracks are gettin' fresher. See?" He knelt, touched a spot and held his finger up, showing them the spot of crimson on the tip. "Blood drops from the hurt dog ain't as tacky as before. We're closer."

_How the hell did he even see that?_ Andrea wondered. She was pretty good with the more obvious stuff, such as trampled foliage, but when it came to spotting a little bit of blood spatter in the dirt, her eyes passed right over it without even noticing. She would've thought blood would be the most obvious thing, but it wasn't the brilliant scarlet she was used to in movies. The stuff was almost dull brown in reality, especially once it dried. Unless there was a huge puddle of the stuff, it wasn't that easy to see unless one really knew what to look for. Andrea made a silent resolution to practice a little harder at wilderness tracking in the future.

The kids tensed half a second before Rick and Shane did. The two men might not have been all that familiar with wilderness survival, but their years spent in law enforcement gave them a keen sense of impending danger. Andrea and T-Dog took their cue from them and fell silent. They all crept ahead much slower and with greater caution. They didn't want to scare off their quarry, or worse, entice the dogs into attacking. Nana didn't need to give anyone else stitches.

They saw a small clearing ahead. Really more of a bare patch where a large tree might have fallen some time ago. The hunters crouched low so they wouldn't be spotted and made sure to approach downwind. Tall grass obscured their view. Shane reached out and carefully parted the foliage just enough for him to peek through. The first thing he saw was a German shepherd lying on the ground, its sides heaving as it panted in the heat. Flies circled around a wound on its hip which was caked with dried blood. Shane shifted his position a little and saw a big black dog with dark brown paws and muzzle curled up beside a smaller brown dog he thought might be a pit bull.

After scoping the area a little while longer, Shane drew back and turned to the rest of his companions. They gathered close so he wouldn't have to talk above a whisper and risk giving them away.

"I saw three," he whispered, then proceeded to describe the dogs.

T-Dog frowned. "There was another one," he hissed, "Big reddish sonuvabitch. You didn't see it?"

Shane shook his head.

Rick pursed his lips in thought. Should they strike now? Hope to take down as many of the dogs as they could and risk letting one get away? Or should they wait for the last dog to appear?

The decision was taken out of their hands when a deep growl warned them they were no longer unnoticed. They all turned towards the source of the angry sound and saw the russet-brown mutt snarling at them a couple of yards away. Far too close for comfort.

"I think I see it now," Shane remarked.

Turk glowered at the intruders and felt a depth of rage he hadn't experienced since the days he fought for supremacy of the pack. These humans had brazenly come into _his_ woods and now threatened _his_ pack, _his_ mate, _his_ unborn pups. He didn't care about the weapons they carried or the fact that they outnumbered his kind, he would not be satisfied until he tore open each and every one of their throats.

He let out a deep-throated, imperious bark, and instantly the rest of the pack came to his aid, including the wounded Whitefoot. Turk surged forward, targeting the male human his instincts told him was the alpha of this group. The others were too busy fending off the rest of the pack to help their leader. This fight was between him and Turk alone.

The huge russet dog slammed into Rick before he had a chance to raise his bow. His back struck the ground with enough force to drive the air from his lungs and before he could draw a breath the dog was upon him. Rick somehow managed to grab the animal's neck before it could sink its teeth into his throat. The dog roared and snapped its powerful jaws, spraying him with its saliva. Rick tried to reach his Python in its holster, but as soon as he took his right hand away the dog pushed itself even closer to him and he quickly grabbed onto it again. But even with both hands, it was only a matter of time before his arms grew too tired to hold the animal back. The dog was incredibly strong and showed no signs of weakening, even as its breath came in wheezes from its constricted windpipe.

Marco and Jessie dodged an attack from Whitefoot, whose injury didn't seem to hamper her at that moment. Jessie distracted the dog while Marco readied his bow and took aim. The let the arrow fly, but a last second movement on Whitefoot's part meant it only grazed her side. She spun and charged at the boy, teeth bared in a wrathful snarl.

Midnight, the half lab/half doberman, swerved from T-Dog's swinging bat and received a glancing blow on his shoulder. The dog barked angrily, searching for an opening in the man's defense and forgetting for one brief, fatal instant that there were _two_ men he was fighting. Shane's hastily loosed arrow struck the large black dog in the side. Midnight yowled in shock and pain. T-Dog brought his bat down across the animal's back and heard the crack of broken vertebrae. Midnight's rear legs collapsed as all feeling left them. The wounded dog dragged himself by his front legs, whining piteously. T-Dog showed him mercy by caving his skull in.

Marco ran to the nearest tree with low-hanging branches and started to climb. He wasn't quite fast enough to avoid Whitefoot sinking her teeth into his leg. Marco cried out, more from fear than anything. Adrenaline prevented him from feeling the pain that was sure to come later.

One of Jessie's arrows struck the German shepherd, but the dog stubbornly held on, even when the girl shot her a second and third time. Finally, T-Dog ran over and finished the animal off with his already blood-smeared baseball bat. Marco dropped to the ground beside the dog's corpse, clutching his wounded leg. Jessie hurried to his side with the first aid kit she dug out of her backpack while T-Dog stood guard over them.

Andrea ran to help Rick, who was still struggling with Turk. She didn't trust her archery skills enough to risk shooting at the dog while it was on top of Rick, so instead she brought out the pocket knife Dale had given her that morning. "This isn't a loan," he'd insisted in that tone she knew meant he was trying to hide his worry for her, "I fully expect you to return it as soon as you get back." He once told her it belonged to his grandfather. It was the only thing he owned, aside from his wedding ring, that he truly treasured. Andrea unfolded the four-inch blade with a flick of her wrist and drove it into the huge dog's side, praying she didn't accidentally snap the blade off in the struggle.

Turk howled and immediately leaped away, dislodging the knife and sending a spray of blood out from the wound. Rick scrambled for his bow while Andrea quickly fired at the dog. Turk managed to evade her arrow and kept running, his earlier rage pushed aside by the need for survival. Rick, Andrea, and Shane ran after him, firing arrows as they went, but their aim was not so accurate while on the move. Rick finally drew his revolver, deciding the noise was worth the risk, but by then the animal had vanished into the wilderness. Rick lowered the gun. "Dammit."

"We got most of 'em, though," Shane tried to reassure him.

"Plus I stabbed that one," Andrea added, "If it doesn't bleed out, the geeks are sure to sniff it out."

"Maybe," Rick answered, but he didn't look all that convinced. He'd looked into that dog's pale eyes and saw the capacity for vengefulness, a trait he once thought resided solely in humans. Rick doubted that animal would allow a mere stabbing keep it from getting back at him and likely everyone he cared about. As long as that russet dog was out there, he couldn't let his guard down for an instant.

He and his companions returned to the others. "How bad?" Rick asked, gazing at Marco's heavily bandaged leg.

"It ain't so bad," the boy said, "I think I can walk on it okay."

"Did we get all of them?" Jessie asked.

Rick shook his head. "That big mutt got away."

T-Dog glanced around. "What about that brown pit bull? Anybody get that one?"

Frowns and shaken heads. They looked around, but found no sign of the pit bull.

"Must've cut and run," Shane speculated. He wasn't wrong. Coco's feeble courage failed her the instant Turk alerted them to the humans. While the rest of the pack rushed to the fight, she dashed for the nearest hiding place, which turned out to be the hollow log of a massive tree whose demise created the little clearing they'd sheltered in. Coco huddled in its moldy interior, twitching as the insects which resided inside the log crawled over her, and listened to the battle. It wasn't long before only the sound of human voices remained. She waited until they faded in the distance, then warily crawled from her hiding place. She crept back to the clearing where she found Midnight and Whitefoot dead. But no Turk. She caught the scent of his blood, though. Injured, but alive, and running somewhere out in the woods. Coco nudged the bodies of her companions with her blunt nose and whimpered. A surge of sorrow and loneliness overwhelmed her. She couldn't be alone. She didn't have it in her to survive by herself.

Two distinct trails led away from the carnage. One was Turk's, the other the humans'. Conflicting emotions roiled within the female pit bull. Instinct told her to follow her pack leader and rejoin him. But another part of her, the part that was still someone's gentle family pet, longed for the companionship of humans once again. Longed to be sheltered, cared for, and loved. She remembered these things, and the memories made her current life all the more painful. Surviving in this harsh wilderness wasn't enough for her anymore, if it ever was. Coco decided the risk of getting shot was worth the chance of gaining something better. Her choice made, she followed the trail that would take her out of the woods.

* * *

><p>Daryl, Lia, and Hess were escorted to the protective wall that surrounded the village, made from derelict construction machinery, cinder blocks, and thick wooden poles. The base of the wall was further protected by coils of barbwire and jagged metal spikes set in outward facing angles. The gate itself seemed to be a collection of scrap metal welded together in a latticed configuration for durability. It looked heavy as hell and the three companionsprisoners wondered how anyone could open or close it without the use of a bulldozer. A series of guard towers peered over the top of the wall, evenly spaced to allow the guards to see in all directions. All in all an imposing sight.

Dave raised his arm and whistled at the guard manning the tower beside the wall's gate. The guard waved back, then appeared to signal someone inside the wall. There was a loud clank of a released bolt, then the gate slowly swung open seemingly on its own. It was incredibly quiet as well. Daryl, Lia, and Hess were led through and Daryl noticed a man standing beside a big lever set into the wall beside the gate. As soon as they were all inside, the man pulled the lever, there was another clank, and the gate silently swung shut behind them.

"Counterweights," Daryl muttered.

"That's right," Dave responded in obvious pride, "Only one person has t' operate it 'n' it doesn't use a lick of electricity."

"Must've taken a while to figure out," Hess remarked.

Dave and the rest of the armed men all got the same look on their faces, like they were sharing an inside joke. "Not really," was all Dave would say.

They walked down what, for lack of a better name, could be called the village's main avenue. They passed simple wooden cabins, each with its own vegetable patch growing beside it, and the occasional tent set up next to the stack of raw materials that would become a future cabin for its residents. There were dozens of people as well, men and women ranging in age from late teens to perhaps early sixties. All of them were physically fit and seemed busy at one task or another, but their activities stopped once they noticed the strangers in their midst. It wasn't long before the three prisoners and their guards were being followed by a crowd of curious onlookers.

Lia couldn't help but ask, "Where are all the kids?"

Dave seemed to debate with himself whether or not to answer. "There's only 'bout a handful o' kids here. Not many made it when th' walkers rose up."

Lia glimpsed more than a few young women sporting large bellies. "Looks like you're making up for it now."

"'Be fruitful and multiply,' as th' Good Book says," Dave replied with devout sincerity.

"What're you gonna do with us?" Daryl asked, giving voice to the question on all their minds.

"Honestly," Dave shrugged, "I ain't so sure. Figure we oughta just lock y'all up in th' jail 'n' let the Elders decide how t' deal with ya."

None of them was sure they liked the sound of that. They heard the word Elders and Dave's Bible quoting and began to wonder if they'd stumbled onto some kind of post-apocalyptic cult.

The jail was located in one of the main buildings. Most of the interior was actually a meeting hall with the "jail" situated in a back room. It consisted of a single cell - a cage, really - constructed of iron rebars welded together into a big box shape with a simple door and a heavy-duty padlock. Inside the cell were two military-surplus cots and a bucket sitting in a corner. Lia eyed the latter item without much enthusiasm. "Great."

"Yer packs stay with us," Dave instructed. Since they had no choice, the three of them complied and handed over their backpacks and Hess's guitar case, then stepped into the cell. The door squeaked on its hinges as it swung closed, the latch rattled, and the padlock clicked into place. Dave pocketed the key. "There'll be a guard here at all times," he informed them, "If y'all want some water or food, just let him know. We'll try not t' keep ya waitin' too long."

"To meet these Elders of yours?" Hess asked.

Dave shook his head. "T' hear their decision 'bout what to do with ya."

"You're not even gonna let us plead our case?" Lia asked incredulously.

"Up to th' Elders if they wanna hear yer side," Dave replied, implacable. He and his men promptly exited the room, leaving a single guard behind who immediately parked himself in a nearby chair and started reading a faded magazine he'd pulled out of his back pocket.

Daryl started pacing the length of the cell while Lia and Hess seated themselves on each of the cots.

"Maybe they'll decide to burn us at the stake," Hess muttered.

"Don't even joke about that," Lia snapped.

"Sorry."

Lia sighed and buried her face in her hands. "How the hell did we get ourselves in this mess?"

Hess shrugged philosophically. "Just lucky, I guess."

Daryl snorted.

Hess dug around in his back pocket and pulled out a harmonica. Lia's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I didn't know you had that."

"I don't really play it that often," he said, "I like my guitar better." He tapped the harmonica against his hand a couple of times, then brought the instrument to his lips and started playing a slow, somber blues.

Almost immediately, their guard barked, "Quit that noise!"

Hess lowered the harmonica. "What? You don't allow the 'devil's music'?" he smirked.

"No. I just hate fuckin' blues," the man growled. He once again buried his nose in his magazine. Daryl noted it was about fishing. Something about a prison guard choosing lures and salmon over _Playboy_ or _Hustler_ depressed the hell out of him.

Hess tapped the harmonica against his chin in thought, then started playing the Eagles' _Take It Easy_. Daryl groaned, "Christ, anything but that shit."

"I like this song!" Lia rose in its defense.

The guard, without bothering to look up from his magazine, said, "It ain't bad."

"Looks like you're outvoted," Hess grinned, then continued playing. Lia hummed along, then started to sing.

"_Well, I'm a standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona_

_It's such a fine sight to see_

_It's a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford_

_Slowin' down to take a look at me_

_Come on, baby, don't say maybe_

_I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me..."_

Daryl walked over to the nearest cell wall and lightly banged his forehead against the metal bars. "Jus' let th' guard shoot me now," he begged.

"_...Take it easy, take it easy_

_Don't let the sound of your own wheels make you crazy_

_Come on, baby, don't say maybe_

_I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me..."_


	13. The Uncertain Future

**A/N:** Hope everybody had a fun Halloween. Here's a new chapter!

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, or any other dead, for that matter. Seriously, how creepy would that be?**

Word about the three strangers' capture spread faster than Dave's call for a town meeting, resulting in the meeting hall filling up in record time. Those who didn't arrive soon enough to grab a seat in one of the rough-hewn benches wound up standing with the crowd in the back. The meeting hall was big enough to squeeze in the entire population, which numbered less than a hundred and fifty. The Elders - two men and two women - took their seats behind the long table on the raised dais at the head of the spacious room. Despite the title of their position, two of the Elders were middle-aged and one was in her thirties. Only Doc Lawton could accurately be described as elderly. An African-American in his early seventies, he was the oldest resident. He'd earned his medical degree back when most colleges were still segregated and made up for the gaps in his education with folk medicines he learned in his hometown, mainly from his grandmother. His peers always found this odd education to be quaint and folksy, and ultimately useless in the face of modern medicine. But with the loss of advanced medical technology along with the rest of the world's modern conveniences, Doc Lawton found himself better prepared to care for his patients after the apocalypse than the majority of his colleagues would have. He was arguably one of the town's most valuable people, and his granddaughter, who he was in the process of teaching, was well on the way to matching his healing skills.

The rest of the Elders were Louann Nealson, a thirty-two-year-old schoolteacher; Javier Martinez, a forty-three-year-old former member of Dave's construction crew; and Norma Henton, forty-five and mother and primary caregiver of Thomas "Edison" Henton (the other most valuable person in the village).

The murmurs in the crowded hall fell silent as Norma tapped her gavel (which was really a small mallet salvaged from someone's toolkit) and called the meeting to order. "I understand you 'n' some of your men found three strangers in th' woods, Dave."

The tall, skinny man nodded and spoke loud enough for his voice to carry to everyone in the room, "Yep. Two men and a lady. They were watchin' th' village out at the edge of th' woods."

Worried mutters met this announcement. The Elders waited for them to fall silent before continuing with their questions.

"They put up a fight when y'all brought 'em in?" asked Javier.

"Nope. They weren't happy 'bout it, obviously, but they cooperated alright." Dave beckoned to a couple of his men and they brought over the weapons and packs they confiscated. "They were armed, o' course," Dave continued, placing the items on the table before the Elders.

Doc Lawton picked up Daryl's crossbow, his bushy white eyebrows rose. "Interesting idea, usin' bows. None of 'em had guns?"

Dave nodded once. "Found a revolver in one o' their packs. Not much ammo fer it, though. Also found a coupla knives. Nuthin' else but clothes, food 'n' water, first aid stuff, an' one of 'em had a map with a buncha places marked off."

"What kinda places?" Louann asked.

"Not sure. Don't seem t' be anywhere near any towns 'r cities."

Javier rubbed his chin in thought. "Maybe new places, like here?"

Dave shrugged. "Could be."

"You think they might be scouts?" Norma asked, voicing everyone's worry. Early on, before they had the protective wall completed, they had to fend off an attack - not from walkers, but from a roving gang of well-armed people who showed no qualms about killing others to get what they wanted. Many lives were lost over those two horrible days, and nobody wanted a repeat of that experience.

Dave replied, "They said they were just passin' through. They might've been tellin' the truth."

"What d'you think, Dave?"

"I ain't sure, t' tell ya the truth," he said, "The lady seems honest 'nough, but those guys she's with, 'specially th' one with th' crossbow...they could be trouble."

"What're we supposed t' _do_ with 'em?" someone in the crowd asked.

The Elders exchanged uneasy looks. They really weren't sure what they should do. The town wasn't equipped to hold prisoners indefinitely, and there was always the chance the strangers truly meant them no harm.

A young woman with short black hair stood and approached the floor before the dais, stopping about six feet away from Dave. "I'll tell ya what we should do," she said, her voice ringing with authority.

Dave suppressed a sigh. He knew it was only a matter of time before Shelby took the floor in this meeting. Shelby Knowles used to be head of the village's militia/police force, a responsibility the Elders decided best lay in the hands of the more even-tempered Dave when people complained of the severity of Shelby's punishments for even the slightest infractions. Though she'd bowed down gracefully, Dave knew she hadn't taken the rejection well. The fact that she immediately packed up and moved out of the cabin they used to share was a pretty strong clue.

"It's what our guys _shoulda_ done th' second they saw those intruders," she continued, "We hafta execute 'em."

People shifted uneasily, including the Elders.

"Kind of a harsh solution, ain't it?" Doc Lawton asked.

Shelby set her jaw. "Not if we wanna protect what's ours. These strangers are a threat. The longer we keep 'em alive, th' better chance they have of escapin' and leadin' an army of bandits back here."

"They might not be part of a gang, Shel," Dave pointed out, "What if yer wrong?"

She glared at him. "Then we're wrong," she said evenly, then turned back to the Elders, "We can't afford t' be squeamish or sentimental. Not if we wanna survive. There's no government anymore, no army or National Guard to protect us. We gotta look out for ourselves, even if it means gettin' our hands bloody t' keep our families safe."

"We understand," Louann assured her, "And y' might even be right. But I don't think most of us 're prepared t' go that far. Not 'til we know for sure these people are dangerous."

Shelby gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, but remained silent. As much as she wanted to, she knew trying to shout some sense into them wouldn't do any good. They still didn't understand that this was a different world from the one they used to know, with different rules for survival. She had no doubt they would learn, eventually, but by then she feared it would be too late for some.

"Why not bring 'em out here?" Norma suggested, "Let us get a feel for 'em. It might help us decide what t' do about them."

"You really think you can trust anything they'll say?" Shelby asked sharply.

"Maybe not," the middle-aged woman responded calmly, "But it wouldn't hurt to try."

Dave had some of his men escort the prisoners out into the meeting hall. People craned their necks to get a look at the three strangers as they were made to stand before the dais and face the Elders.

Lia wasn't sure what she expected of the village's leaders. Part of her imagined a group of stern-faced Puritan types right out of the Sixteenth Century, ready to declare her and her companions witches and have them stoned. Instead, what she saw were four average-looking people gazing down in frank curiosity. The middle-aged Hispanic man spoke first, "I s'pose we oughta get the introductions out of th' way..."

And so names were exchanged in an awkward show of politeness. Lia would have laughed if she weren't so anxious to find out what fate awaited her and Daryl and Hess. She could tell from the belligerent scowl on Daryl's face that he was even more so. It was something of a miracle that he showed this much restraint. Lia knew for a fact he was close to getting in everyone's face and demanding answers. She reached out and touched his hand, reminding him she was with him in this. Daryl glanced at her and visibly struggled to maintain his composure.

"Mind tellin' us what you all were doin' watching our town?" Doc Lawton asked, his voice deceptively mild.

"You mean 'spying', right?" Lia retorted, maintaining a calm exterior, "It was only curiosity. We were passing through when we saw this place. You gotta admit, it's pretty impressive. Plus we saw some people lure a bunch of walkers into a pit a couple of days ago and wondered if this was where they came from."

The Elders looked at each other, shrugged, then Louann replied, "Those were our people, all right. We gotta herd th' walkers every month or so t' keep their numbers down. Seems more of 'em keep showin' up all the time."

"So, y'all ain't part of some bigger group?" Javier asked.

Now it was the trio's turn to look at each other. Lia debated with herself whether or not to tell the truth, but she was never comfortable with dishonesty and knew it would show. Best to stick with the truth and try to keep her answers simple. "We are, but they're not traveling."

"Why're you, then?"

Lia pursed her lips before answering, "We're looking for a new place to settle. Somewhere with a steady water supply, but out-of-the-way so we won't have to worry about...other people." Her mouth twisted at the irony of the situation.

Norma held up the map taken from their packs. "That what these marked places mean?"

Lia nodded.

Louann asked the next question, "How many 're in your group?"

Again, Lia considered before replying, "Fewer than what you have here." Then she decided to take a small gamble. "Most of them are children."

There was a low murmur of surprise, and in some cases, longing. Many survivors lost their entire families to the walkers.

"Really," Shelby drawled, her tone laced with sarcasm, "That's interesting, 'specially since we hardly have any kids here. But that doesn't have anything t' do with what y' just said, right?"

Daryl's frown deepened at the woman's response. She'd obviously made up her mind about them, and it wasn't favorable. Fortunately, most of the other faces he scrutinized seemed more wary and curious than condemning. It was a good thing Lia was doing the talking. All that time spent around troubled kids gave her an edge when it came to putting people at ease. If she continued to play her cards right, they just might get out of this in one piece.

"We need t' discuss what's to be done with y'all," Doc Lawton said, "We're sorry, but we'll hafta put you back in th' cell 'til we come to an agreement."

Resigned, they let themselves be escorted back to the village's sole jail cell. Lia immediately stretched out on one of the cots and draped her arm across her eyes. Hess leaned against the bars and crossed his arms. "So, what d'you think?" he asked.

Daryl, staring at the windows beyond the cell where afternoon sunlight streamed in, replied, "They ain't gonna let us go anytime soon. They don't trust us."

"No reason they should," Lia muttered, sounding tired, "I know I wouldn't in their place."

Hess sighed, "Well, at least they don't seem like a crazy cult."

"Just 'cuz they ain't throwin' rocks at us or puttin' together a big pile o' kindling don't mean they ain't a cult," Daryl retorted.

"They're probably making the same kinda argument about us," Hess said, "That just because we seem okay doesn't mean we're not part of a gang waiting to hear from us so they can attack this place. Seriously, how's anyone supposed to know who to trust? Not like we can prove our intentions."

Daryl looked at Lia. She went through the same conundrum when he and the other Atlanta survivors showed up practically on her doorstep. She had Nana and a whole building full of kids to think about, but in the end she decided to give them the benefit of the doubt and hope for the best. It couldn't have been an easy choice. Daryl knew he wouldn't have made the same decision in her place. He didn't have her optimism when it came to people, though he thought he could use some about now. It might have made the waiting a little easier to bear.

"It's weird," Lia murmured suddenly, "but I'm more worried about everyone back home than I am about us. We've been gone a long time."

Daryl thought about Sally and how she'd screamed for them when they walked away. She must have felt abandoned, and if they didn't return, she would spend the rest of her life believing that. He never wanted that for her. That little girl had already been through too much shit.

He sat on the edge of the cot and rested his hand on Lia's knee. She raised her arm just enough to peer at him.

"We're gonna find a way outta here no matter what happens," Daryl stated. His tone brooked no argument.

Lia gave him a faint smile. "Let's hope it doesn't come to making some daring escape. I've already had enough adventure this last year."

Hess snorted and lowered himself into a crouch. "We all have."

The debate over their future stretched out over the next few hours. Every once in a while they heard raised voices through the door leading into the meeting hall. At one point a young woman came in bearing a tray with three bowls of thick stew, which they were thrilled to discover was made with chicken. None of them could remember the last time they ate chicken that didn't come out of a can. When they were done, the guard made sure they didn't try to steal their spoons.

"Maybe he thinks we'll try t' dig our way out," Daryl muttered sardonically. Lia and Hess chuckled.

The light coming through the windows became tinged red-orange, then slowly faded altogether as night approached. Suddenly, there was a click and white light blazed overhead. The three prisoners blinked up at the ceiling in astonishment. The village really did have electricity! After months of medieval living, the sight of working fluorescent lights seemed like magic.

The sound of a door opening distracted them from their marveling and they turned their heads to see Dave enter the jail along with a couple of men bearing an extra cot. He instructed the captives to stand at the far side of the cell, then fished the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. While he and the guard kept their weapons ready in case of trouble, the two men carried the extra cot into the cell and quickly exited before Dave relocked the door.

"Th' Elders finally came to an agreement," he informed them, "They decided t' put y'all on probation for now. Y' got the run of th' town, but you'll be watched an' ya ain't allowed outside the wall. At night, you'll sleep in th' cell. We'll do our best t' make it more comfortable for ya tomorrow."

"How long're we gonna be kept here," Daryl asked.

"As long as it takes t' decide y' ain't a threat. Be on yer best behavior, and y'all will eventually go free. 'Til then, you're our guests."

"Yer prisoners," Daryl growled.

"Yes," Dave agreed, his expression calm and unapologetic. "Y'all should count your blessin's. Some of us voted t' execute ya right off th' bat. But we ain't savages. Least not yet," he muttered those last words, thinking of Shelby. "Fer what it's worth, I'm more 'n half convinced y' ain't here t' do us harm. Keep cooperatin' like you been doin' and this situation shouldn't last too long."

Lia gave a reluctant nod. What other choice did they have?

* * *

><p>Lia's watch said 9pm when the overhead light was switched off, likely to conserve power. Their current guard had a lamp he kept on, which he mostly used to read by. Its glow revealed everything as shadows, enough to avoid bumping into things, but not enough to make out any detail.<p>

Daryl pushed two of the cots together on one side of the cell while Hess took the third cot on the opposite side. Lying in his uncomfortable bed, Daryl listened to the sounds of Lia's breathing and the occasional whisper of paper as the guard turned a page in his book. A few minutes later he felt Lia's hand touch his wrist and slowly travel up to his shoulder, his neck, and finally cup the side of his face. Her cot squeaked as she shifted and Daryl felt her lips against his.

"What's that for?" he murmured after she drew away. He lightly gripped her arm, her hand still gently stroking his cheek.

"For keeping a tight rein on your temper," she whispered back, "You looked like you were gonna blow a gasket more than once. I know how hard it is for you not to fight back."

Daryl shrugged. If holding himself back kept her safe, it was worth the risk of an ulcer.

"Any asshole tries anything with you I sure as hell ain't holdin' back," he whispered harshly, "I'll kill th' sumbitch."

"I know," she let out a faint laugh, "It's funny, I always thought of myself as all tough and independent, but I know I'd be more scared if you weren't here."

Daryl smirked. "Still glad y' came along?"

"Of course I am," she answered seriously, "If I weren't, there'd be no reason for you to restrain yourself, and you probably would've been shot by now."

Daryl might have been annoyed by her admittedly truthful assessment of his behavior, but Lia was kissing him again and it was hard to feel irritated when she did that. He reached up to cup the back of her head, prolonging their kiss. When they finally came up for air Lia whispered into his ear, "Think one of these cots is strong enough to hold two?"

Daryl almost laughed. "Maybe y' oughta be more worried about Hess or th' guard listenin' in."

Lia withdrew her hand from his face and he heard a rustle and the metallic squeak of her cot's frame. Then Daryl felt his blanket lifted to allow Lia's warm body to slide underneath with him. Her hands fumbled with his pants. Shocked by her boldness, Daryl lay still as he felt his pants pulled down, then the softness of Lia's skin as she straddled him. Like him, she was bare from the waist down.

"Christ, yer serious?"

"Shhh."

All he could see of her was her silhouette. She hovered over him, her hands on his shoulders. She rocked her hips against him and that was enough to convince his libido to go along with it. The darkness of the room and the blanket tented over their bodies gave the illusion of privacy, but they both knew Hess and the guard were close, probably hearing what they were doing even though they were being quiet. This brought a strange thrill to the experience.

Daryl gripped Lia's hips and guided her onto his erection. As soon as he was inside her she began to deepen her thrusts. The cot's frame creaked in protest, the loudest sound in the cramped jail. Thankfully, the flimsy bed didn't collapse under them, though Daryl doubted the floor was any less comfortable.

Across the cell, Hess grimaced and mashed his pillow over his head. The only thing worse than going through a dry spell was hearing someone else have all the fun.

The guard, seated by the jail door, glanced over at the cell, saw the shadows moving rhythmically and heard occasional muted groans, and hastily decided this was nothing he wanted to interfere with. He did his best to focus on his novel and blot out what he knew was happening only a few feet away. This was definitely _not_ an aspect of guard duty he was warned about.

Lia's movements quickened as her climax neared. She leaned in close enough for her braids to tickle the sides of Daryl's face and for her breaths to mingle with his. Neither one of them thought about the fact that they weren't alone or that this could be their last time together. For now their world narrowed to the joining of their bodies. Daryl reached up and pulled her down into a kiss at the same moment she tensed and a muffled moan tried to escape her throat. He buried his face in the crook of her neck to stifle his own groans as he came.

They rested, Lia lying on top of Daryl, both of them breathing heavily. They silently wished they could sleep curled up together, but the cot was too narrow and they'd already pushed their luck as far as how well it could accommodate the two of them. Lia reluctantly returned to her own cot, one arm stretched out to grasp Daryl's hand. "I love you," she whispered.

Daryl squeezed her hand. "I love ya, too," he whispered in return, and that alone was enough to tell her how much their uncertain future gnawed at him.


	14. Exodus

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, I'm just shamelessly borrowing the characters for my own gratification. ;-)**

Lori didn't hide her relief on seeing the hunting party's safe return. She ran to her husband as fast as her swollen belly would allow and threw her arms around his neck. Rick hugged her back just as fiercely and kissed her eager lips. The couple parted only when Carl arrived and Rick lifted his son into his arms.

"Did you get 'em?" the boy asked.

Rick nodded. "Most of them. A couple of dogs got away, but one of them's wounded. I don't think it'll last long."

"So, we're safe now?" Lori asked.

Rick hesitated, "As safe as we can expect."

"'Til something else comes along," Shane added, standing a few feet away with his arm around Marilyn's shoulders. His wife leaned into his comforting solid frame, grateful he came back unharmed.

Jessie helped Marco limp over to Nana and Carol, the two women quickly kneeling to examine his injured leg.

Andrea approached a quietly smiling Dale. She held out the pocket knife, cleaned of blood. "Thanks for the loan."

Dale's warm fingers brushed against her palm when he took the knife back. He then pulled her into his arms and kissed her lightly. Andrea smiled, the lingering tension from the battle with the dogs finally ebbing away in the older man's calming presence.

T-Dog walked over to where Carol and Nana were checking on Marco, the stoop of his shoulders revealing his exhaustion. Carol straightened and checked the bandages on his arms. A little blood had seeped through, so she unwound the bandages to examine his stitches. They'd held up well, fortunately. "Just don't go making a habit of fighting off wild animals while you're still healing," Carol chided.

T-Dog grinned. "Yes, ma'am."

Morgan and Glenn hurried over to Shane and Rick, something in their expressions causing everyone else to fall silent.

"Rick," Morgan said in his solemn voice, "I hate t' saddle you with this right away, but we got ourselves a new problem."

"What kinda problem?" Shane asked, removing his arm from Marilyn's shoulders and stepping closer to the small group of men.

Morgan replied, "Dwayne saw somethin' from up on the roof." His son was on lookout duty. "Said it looked like a whole army of walkers comin' this way."

The tension rose palpably at his words. "You sure about that?" Rick asked, hoping it was simple exaggeration, but in his gut knowing better.

Glenn answered, "We went up to look for ourselves. It's true. I saw them through the binoculars, thousands of them. It's like the whole city's emptying out in one big surge."

This tendency for walkers to travel in herds was not unknown, but the survivors had seldom witnessed more than a few dozen dead together at one time. The largest horde numbered a couple of hundred, and all they had to do was hole up in the building and pick the walkers off with their bows. It took more than a day working in constant shifts, but they did it. An entire city's worth, though...no one was sure they could handle that. They'd be under siege for days, if not weeks, and their water supply was already running low.

Rick wiped a hand across his eyes, exhaustion suddenly washing over him. It seemed God or Fate once again decided to heap still more danger in their lives without even giving them the benefit of a rest. "How long 'til they get here."

Morgan shrugged. "They ain't goin' all that fast. Two or three days, at least."

"Unless something gets their attention," Glenn added, "Gets them to speed up or change direction."

Lori gripped her husband's arm, sensing his indecision even through her fear. She kept her voice steady as she voiced the question on everyone's minds, "What are we going to do?"

Some might have felt overwhelmed by the frightened yet trusting look Rick saw in her eyes. For him, it galvanized him. He nodded to Shane, "Let's take a look for ourselves."

The two men went up to the roof where Dwayne and Bobby kept watch. Dwayne handed Rick his binoculars and pointed in the direction of the horde. This wasn't really necessary since the ominous dark blot in the distance was clearly visible, shifting slowly like a low-hanging cloud. Rick peered through the binocs. Even at their highest setting, he could barely make out individual figures at the forefront of the massive herd. Morgan was right about them going slow. They were barely moving at their usual shuffle, but they were all going relentlessly in the same direction. Rick pursed his lips and passed the binoculars to Shane, who hissed at what he saw. "Jesus H. Christ. That's gotta be every geek that was left in the city."

"What the hell could be makin' them come together like that?" Rick muttered, "Some kinda migrating instinct?"

"What difference does it make?" Shane snapped, "They're comin'. We gotta figure out how we're gonna handle this before they get here."

Rick sighed, Shane was right. They could speculate on walker group behavior when their lives weren't in danger. "We obviously can't fight 'em off. Maybe we could hide indoors and wait for the horde to pass."

Shane chewed his lip in thought. "Big as that horde is, we'd hafta wait a long damn time without makin' a sound. One peep from the little kids and those walkers won't be goin' anywhere. We don't have the arrows to put 'em all down, and we sure as hell don't have enough water."

And that was what it really boiled down to, the lack of water. The threat that had been hanging over their heads for weeks. If the plumbing hadn't failed on them, they might very well have stood a chance.

"We can't stay here," Rick concluded sadly. He saw the muscles in Shane's jaws bunch, but no protests came. Neither of them could see any alternative, they had to leave.

"But where can we go?" Andrea asked moments later when they were all gathered in a group meeting. Even the younger children attended, sensing that any decisions made now would affect them as much as the adults. "Lia and Daryl aren't back yet," Andrea continued, "If they aren't here to show us the way, what're we supposed to do? We can't wander around aimlessly and hope for the best. That kind of thing almost got us killed before we came here."

Dale spoke up, his tone thoughtful, "Daryl left a second copy of the map he was using. Maybe he wanted to be sure we could pick out a destination if they never made it back or if we had to leave early for some reason."

"I'd say a giant swarm of geeks was a pretty good reason," Glenn remarked drily.

"We have small children and two pregnant women," Nana stated, then smirked, "Not to mention this old lady. I'm not saying it cannot be done, but it won't be easy. We're not talking about a stroll down the road, for one thing. We will be traveling through wilderness. Rough terrain, wild animals, walkers, possibly bandits. It will be incredibly dangerous."

"And we might miss Daryl and Lia along the way," Carol pointed out.

"We can't wait for them," Rick said, quietly yet forcefully, "We can't wait for a miracle to turn the walkers aside or fix the running water. I don't like the idea of putting my family at risk with hard travel, but there's no other choice. Leaving is our best chance at survival."

Nobody liked it, but one look at the distant horde through the binocs decided them. They spent a frantic day sorting through possessions, collecting supplies, comforting small children too young to understand why they had to leave home, and figuring out how to transport it all over the rough terrain they would soon encounter. And all the while eyes turned towards the woods hoping to catch a glimpse of Daryl and Lia returning just in time to lead them to a new haven. Sadly, this did not happen, and when they all set out on their journey, they had only a vague notion of where they would go.

Marilyn walked beside Shane, a backpack slung across her shoulders. She and Lori insisted on walking while they had the energy to do so. There were makeshift carts each hitched to two bicycles, used to either haul supplies or give the tired little ones a chance to rest up without stopping the whole group. The carts and the younger children were situated in the center, while the armed adults and older kids encircled them, keeping their eyes open and bows ready for whatever trouble might arise. Marilyn glanced back over her shoulder, already they were deep enough in the woods for the trees to conceal the place she'd come to think of as home from view. They'd left so abruptly, there wasn't any time to say goodbye. She felt as lost and adrift as she had when this chaotic new world began. But at least she wasn't alone this time. She had people to care about and a husband who loved her. As bad as things were, she knew things could be so much worse.

"I'm sorry about this, baby," Shane murmured to her.

Marilyn smiled at him. "It's okay. I mean, we were all gonna leave anyway."

"Yeah, but not this soon," Shane sighed, "It all happened so fast I still don't have my head totally wrapped around it. Got used to stayin' in one place for more than a few days or weeks."

"This'll be the last time, right?"

"I sure hope so." He looked down at her belly. "You doin' alright?"

"I'm fine," Marilyn put on a brave face, "Pioneers had it tougher. I can handle this."

Shane smiled. It was so easy to think of her as fragile. Easy to forget that she'd lived through conditions far harsher than this and come through with her sanity intact. He put his arm around her and kissed her. Marilyn leaned her head against his shoulder.

Up ahead, Rick was walking with his family. Shane wondered if he and Lori were having a similar conversation. His eyes wandered farther and he saw Nana Shino hiking along with baby Aidan in a carrier strapped to her back and keeping the youngsters in line. She was tireless, and it suddenly occurred to Shane that she was a big part of what kept them all going. Nothing this screwed-up life threw at them seemed to deter the petite old woman. If anyone could make it through this journey, it would be her. That thought gave Shane a little optimism for their chances.

* * *

><p>Lia was prepared for the awkwardness that faced her the next morning and refused to be embarrassed by what she and Daryl had done. Hess met her eyes and quirked a wry smile, but kept silent, mostly because Daryl's hard glare warned him he wasn't about to take any shit, good-natured or not.<p>

After they were given breakfast, Dave arrived with three other men, each wearing a sidearm at his hip. Apparently, word about last night had spread, to judge from a couple of the men's sneers. Dave unlocked the cell and held the door open, an obvious invitation. The three prisoners stepped out and the three men immediately moved to stand beside each of them.

"These fellas will be yer escorts while y'all are out 'n' about," Dave explained, "And while yer out, you should know everybody's expected to pitch in 'round here. 'Idle hands are the devil's playground,' as my granny used t' say." He smirked, then pointed at Lia, "You'll help out at th' community garden," Hess, "You with th' fishnets. An' you," Daryl, "with constructin' one of th' new cabins. Can't have folks livin' in tents the rest o' their lives."

Daryl moved closer to Lia. "She ain't goin' anywhere without me."

"Hmm." Dave pursed his lips, more thoughtful than irritated by Daryl's contentiousness. "I'd rather not make a big issue o' this. If y'all ain't willin' to cooperate, yer free t' go back in the cell."

Lia turned to Daryl. She saw the worry masked beneath his anger and took his hand in hers. "I really don't wanna spend the whole day cooped up in that cage," she said, keeping her tone light.

Daryl scowled at her, "I ain't gonna let these assholes separate us."

"If they wanted to hurt us, they would've done it already," she reasoned.

Daryl remained unconvinced.

"You have my word y'all won't be harmed," Dave assured him.

Daryl's eyes narrowed. "Swear to God."

The corner of Dave's mouth turned upward. "Well, ain't you shrewd? Alright then, I swear by God and Jesus Christ no harm will come t' any of you." He pulled a small dogeared book out of his breast pocket. "Want me t' kiss the Bible while I'm at it?"

"That's not necessary," Lia interjected, giving Daryl a look that warned him not to push their luck. He took the hint and kept his mouth shut, though he obviously resented it.

Hess, who'd been silent up to that point, chose that moment to speak up, "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I could use some fresh air." He turned to the guard beside him with a winning smile. "Shall we?"

His escort, unimpressed by his charm, indicated that Hess walk ahead of them and the two of them exited the jail. Lia gave Daryl's hand a final squeeze, then she and her assigned guard left as well. Daryl glared at the man beside him, then stormed out grumbling, "Don't need no fuckin' minder."

Alone in the small jail, Dave heaved a weary sigh. He really hoped giving the strangers a chance to prove themselves didn't turn out to be a terrible mistake. The last thing he needed was an I-told-you-so from Shelby.

Lia was surprised by how much the town bustled with activity already. Dave wasn't kidding about everyone pitching in. Every person she saw was doing something productive, whether it be washing and hanging laundry or tending to the chickens or working their garden plots. The only ones who seemed idle were the handful of gray-haired men and women she noticed sitting together in a big cluster under an awning apparently set up just for them, and then she noticed even they were busy either watching over the handful of children playing nearby or patching up tears in various clothes. Everyone contributed in some way.

In addition to the individual gardens situated beside people's homes, there was one large communal garden dedicated to staple crops such as potatoes and beans. A middle-aged man with a stooped back hobbled towards her with a gap-toothed grin plastered to his face. "Mornin'! Ya must be one o' the newcomers." He tipped his wide-brimmed hat. "Name's Mason. I sorta run things 'round here. Mostly that means handin' out tools and makin' sure everybody does their fair share o' the work. Can't have people shirkin'."

"Right," Lia smirked, "'Cause idle hands are the devil's playground."

Mason chuckled. "You been talkin' to Dave."

"He seems pretty devout," she observed.

"Oh, he is. His daddy was a preacher. Held week-long revivals every year, so he says," he winked, "And what might yer name be, darlin'?"

"Lia." She found herself warming up to the guy already. He didn't seem at all put off by the fact that she had an armed guard following around.

"Well, Lia, c'mon over here and let's get ya started." He led her to a small cart that contained various gardening tools where he handed her a pair of gloves and a hoe. "Just start hackin' at them weeds," he said, "If ya need water, give Nick there a wave," he indicated a preteen boy carrying a heavy pail that sloshed with every step, "He'll also let ya know when it's time fer a break."

Lia nodded and headed for the nearest available row. It was long, tedious work, and pretty soon she felt a crick in her back and blisters forming even through the gloves. She paused once in a while to stretch her sore back and wipe the sweat from her brow. The Georgian heat was relentless and she wished she'd thought to ask for a hat. The others she saw working the garden mostly stuck to their areas and threw her curious glances every now and then. Her escort wasn't all that chatty, either. He just hung back and watched her work, probably making sure she didn't make a run for it or use her hoe as a weapon. The only one who really talked to her, aside from Mason, was Nick the water boy, and that was only to let her know when it was time for a ten minute break.

When noon rolled around, everyone gathered under the shade of an awning where they rinsed their hands off with tepid water and accepted bowls of stew dipped from a large pot. Lia ended up sitting apart from the other workers with just her guard for company, such as he was. She could tell from the low voices and furtive glances that she was the main subject of conversation among the cluster of men and women. Lia tried not to let it bother her and concentrated on finishing her lunch.

Later, when she was done weeding, Lia was given the task of digging up potatoes that were ready to be harvested. Apparently there were a variety of types being raised here, some of which matured faster and more often than others. And when _that_ job was done, she was handed a large watering can and instructed to water the rows she'd finished weeding. Mason explained, a tad apologetic, that they were working on an irrigation system, but until then they had to make do with this method.

"So, you've got electricity, but no sprinklers," she smirked.

Mason, toting his own watering can, grinned and nodded. "Yep, that's about th' size of it. But I'm sure Edison'll have somethin' worked out soon enough."

"Edison?"

Mason's smile faded a little as he wondered if he might have said too much. He glanced at the guard, who offered no reaction one way or the other. Shrugging, he explained, "His real name's Thomas Henton. His mama's one o' the Elders. Kid's a genius when it comes t' makin' the things we need."

"You mean like the water wheel?"

"Oh, yeah. If there's somethin' that needs fixin' or improvin', he's the one t' go to. But don't expect t' meet him anytime soon," Mason grimaced slightly, "He ain't too good around people."

Before Lia could ask what he meant by that her watering can was emptied and she had to go for a refill at the large tub a couple of people brought over on a big cart. By the time she got back Mason was already working on a different row and the conversation was effectively ended.

By evening Lia was so sore and rundown she barely had enough energy to drag herself back to the jail. Hess and Daryl were already in the cell, sitting on their cots looking every bit as tired as her. Lia walked in and plopped herself down beside Daryl. The cell door was left open for the time being. Dinner was brought to them and the three ate in silence. Lia was puzzled by the fact that Daryl mostly just picked at his food, but didn't have the energy to raise any questions. A few minutes later the dishes were taken away and the cell door was locked. The men who'd watched over them all day left the jail, leaving a single guard behind to watch over them.

"So, how was it spending your day gardening?" Hess asked conversationally.

Lia groaned, "My back's killing me and I think I might've gotten sunstroke. How was fishing?"

Hess scoffed, "Christ, don't get me started. I spent all day hauling in these heavy-ass nets they got set out in the river and then sorting and processing fish. And by 'processing', I mean gutting and scaling. _All day._ With a dull knife, I might add, because apparently they don't trust me with anything sharp. I've had two showers and a bath and I still smell like fish guts."

Lia wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, I wasn't gonna say anything, but you do kinda reek."

"Thanks," Hess muttered sourly.

"I don't suppose anyone talked to you?"

He shook his head. "Just the guy showin' me the ropes, and all he did was bark orders at me and grunt when I did something right. These people aren't exactly welcoming."

Lia shrugged. "Can't blame them for being cautious."

"What about you?" Hess asked Daryl with a wry smile, "You manage to win anybody over with your sunny disposition?"

Daryl gave a noncommittal grunt. He sat hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his head down, staring at the floor.

Lia frowned and touched his shoulder. "You okay?"

"'M tired," he mumbled. He straightened, kicked off his shoes, and lay down on the cot. "I'm gonna get some sleep."

"Okay," Lia sighed and rolled her sore shoulders, "We could all use the rest, I'll bet."

Hess agreed. Moments later they were all stretched out on the cots, sound asleep.

Something woke Lia a few hours later. It was still dark, the guard's reading lamp the only light in the room. She wasn't sure what woke her up until she heard a noise right beside her. It sounded like a wounded animal. She sat up and stared at the figure curled up in the cot beside her. "Daryl?"

No response. Lia reached out and gasped when she felt him trembling. "Daryl, what's wrong? Why're you shaking?"

The guard, alerted by her voice, turned on the overhead fluorescents. Hess blinked awake and groaned in protest. "What the hell?"

"Something's wrong with Daryl," Lia said, trying to sound calm, "I can't wake him up."

Hess frowned in confusion, "But he _is_ awake."

"What?" Lia leaned over and saw he was right, Daryl's eyes were open. But he didn't react to her voice or her touch, and he couldn't stop shaking. Lia turned to the guard and practically shouted, "Do something!"

The guard picked up a handheld radio and spoke into the receiver. "Dave? Somethin's goin' on with one o' the newcomers. I think ya might wanna bring th' Doc over here."

"Daryl?" Lia's voice cracked, "Please talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

But he only kept trembling, his eyes staring at nothing.


	15. Protective Instincts

**A/N:** Chances are I won't be posting again before the holiday, so I'll just say now to all those readers in the US of A, Happy Thanksgiving, y'all! I'm sure we're all gonna stuff ourselves on turkey and ham like zombies on a dead horse. ;-D

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, or any other form of zombie, revenant, lich, or reanimate.**

By the time Dave brought Doc Lawton to the jail, Daryl seemed to have snapped out of his upsetting trance enough to sit up on the edge of the cot, face cradled in his hands. Lia sat beside him, her arms around him and her head resting on his shoulder. She didn't say anything, didn't try to coax from him the reason for this strange episode or reassure him. She simply let him know by her presence that she was there for him. Hess watched from the other side of the cell, his expression troubled.

The second he heard the cell's door unlock, Daryl's head shot up to glare at the new arrivals. His eyes were bloodshot and dark circles marred the skin underneath.

"It's alright, Daryl," the town's equivalent to a sheriff told him, "Doc Lawton's just gonna take a look at ya."

Daryl got to his feet, his posture confrontational. "He ain't touchin' me."

"Daryl," a worried Lia spoke up.

"Nobody's touchin' me!" he snapped, "I ain't sick. I don't need to fuckin' old man pawin' at me."

Doc held up both age-gnarled hands in a placating gesture. "Calm down, son."

_"I ain't yer son!"_

Everyone jumped at the sheer volume behind Daryl's yell, including Daryl. The nervous guard automatically placed a hand on his sidearm, but a shake of Dave's head kept him from drawing the gun from its holster.

Doc Lawton, having spent a lifetime dealing with difficult patients of all ages, remained unperturbed. It was second nature for him to know just the right words to say, what tone of voice to use, and which calm expression best worked to sooth the distraught man. "Alright, we can all see how fit y' are. An ol' man like me's no threat t' someone like you. Humor us. Lemme ease your lady's worries, if nothin' else."

Daryl looked at Lia's anxious face, then swallowed and lowered his eyes. "No," he said, though with less conviction than before.

Lia touched his arm. "Please. Just let him look."

Daryl chewed the inside of his lip as his head moved in a barely perceptible nod. Doc entered the cell and approached with caution, as if dealing with a wild animal - which, in a way, he was. As his gentle hands began examining the younger man, he asked, "Mind tellin' me what happened?"

Daryl kept silent, so Lia answered, "He was shaking like he was having some kind of epileptic fit. I thought it was a nightmare 'til I saw his eyes were open, but he didn't seem to hear or see me."

Doc removed his stethoscope from where it looped around his neck and stuck the earpieces into his ears. He warmed the end with his breath before reaching under Daryl's shirt and pressing the scope to his chest. He listened to his heartbeat for a moment. "Any trouble breathin'?" he asked, moving around to the back.

"He wheezed a few times at the end," Lia said, "Then he just snapped out of it, like he was waking up."

The doctor had Daryl take a few deep breaths, listening for any problems with his air passages. Then the old man frowned as something on the back of his patient's neck caught his eye. He reached up and pulled the collar of Daryl's sleeveless T-shirt down to get a better look. A frown caused the wrinkles on his brow to become more pronounced. "Dave," he said a little too casually, "Wanna take a look at this?"

Puzzled, Dave came over and looked at what the Doc pointed at. There on the back of Daryl's neck he saw two red dots a couple of inches apart, small and innocuous looking. Dave knew better, though. He'd seen them before.

Lia saw a series of emotions flicker across his face: surprise, anger, disappointment, shame. Then he schooled his features into a neutral expression. But his voice, when he spoke next, was softer than it had been before. "Ya got any more o' these?"

Daryl's shoulders tensed.

"Ya don't hafta say anything," Dave said, "Just show us."

After a silent debate with himself, Daryl sat down on the cot and pulled off his left sock, holding up his foot to let them see the red dots covering the sole.

"They on yer other foot, too?" Dave asked.

Daryl nodded, putting his sock back on and sitting with his forearms on his knees, staring at the floor.

Dave's gaze hardened as he turned to the guard hovering outside the cell. "Kenny Weems was his escort today, right?"

"Uh, y-yeah," the guard stammered, not at all comfortable with his boss's carefully controlled anger.

"Go get 'im," the lawman ordered, "Don't call him on th' radio, go t' his house 'n' bring him here" Dave paused, then reconsidered, "Second thought, don't bring him in here. Both o' you wait out in th' meetin' hall."

The guard nodded and hurried out the door, eager to be away from Dave's flinty stare.

"What're those marks on him?" Lia asked, already dreading the answer.

Surprisingly, it was Hess who replied. "They look like burns left by a stungun. I got hit by one of those 'bout six years back when I said hi to this chick one night on the subway who was _way_ too jumpy."

"Stungun..." Lia thought of how many burns there were, all on the soles of Daryl's feet, where they could easily be hidden. A tremor ran through her. "What'd you do to him?" she whispered hoarsely.

Doc Lawton shook his head sadly. Dave wouldn't look at her at all. The horror flooding Lia's insides transmuted into rage and she ran at the tall man, heedless of the fact that he was armed and probably much stronger than her. "What'd you do to him!" she shouted, pummeling at him until Dave grabbed her wrists and held her back. She continued to struggle, trying to kick him. Hess hurried over and dragged her away. It was all he could do to keep hold of her.

"You bastard! What did you do to him!" Even if he'd answered, Lia wouldn't have heard over her own screaming. She didn't want to know. She wanted to hide behind her rage so she wouldn't have to face the fact that while she and Hess spent the day working and complaining about sore muscles and blisters, Daryl was...

Daryl walked up to her and pulled her into his arms. Hess stepped back, giving them space. Lia clung to Daryl and struggled not to cry. "What did they do?" her voice quavered.

"I'm okay," Daryl said, hoping to calm her.

Lia shook her head. Her eyes stung. "No, you're not," she forced herself to face the truth, "They tortured you."

* * *

><p>Kenny Weems was a thin and awkward young man often mistaken for a teen even though he was well into his twenties. His hair was carrot orange and his pale skin was covered in so many freckles he looked like a stippled painting. He stood in the empty meeting hall with the guard clutching his gunbelt in both hands, blinking owlishly from being woken so early. The moment he saw Dave enter the room he launched into a rushed apology, "Look, I'm sorry I forgot t' turn in my weapon after my shift ended, but-"<p>

"This ain't about that, Kenny," Dave interrupted. He nodded a dismissal to the guard and waited until the two of them were alone. "You were lookin' after the one named Daryl Dixon today, right?"

Kenny nodded, licking his lips nervously. "I took him down to th' Wilks' to help with buildin' their cabin."

"You sure 'bout that, Kenny?"

The taller man's steady gaze made Kenny want to duck his head. He fought to keep his voice steady, "Yeah. 'Course I am."

Dave sat down on the nearest bench and casually crossed his ankle over his knee, arms stretched out to either side of the bench's back. "Funny thing," he mused aloud, "While I was waitin' on your arrival I did some askin' around. Plenty o' folks said they saw Lia 'n' Hess once or twice durin' the day, mostly in passin', but Daryl..." he shook his head, "Nobody's caught a glimpse of him all day. Not once. Now ain't that odd?"

Kenny, still standing, licked his upper lip and tasted sweat. "Yeah, that's pretty strange," he agreed before clearing his throat and asking, "Uh, what'd the Wilks say?"

"Oh, they said they had him with 'em all day. Gave me plenty o' details, too, without my even havin' t' ask. Most of 'em contradicted each other, though," Dave smirked knowingly, "Almost like they were makin' it up on the fly." He stood abruptly and strode over to the younger man, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking for all the world like this was a normal conversation of no importance. He came close enough that Kenny had to crane his neck to look at him. "But ya wanna know the most interestin' thing?" Dave continued, "Not one o' them could explain how Daryl wound up with Taser burns on his feet."

Kenny tensed. "Taser burns?"

"Yeah, a stungun, y'know? Like the ones we used when Shelby was in charge," Dave leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "She liked to use 'em a bit too much, if ya get my meanin'. Probably why the Elders had all the Tasers confiscated. So how'd Daryl end up with all them highly distinctive little burns all over the soles o' his feet?" His eyes narrowed. "Well, Kenny? How'd it happen?"

Kenny's adams apple bobbed. His hands wrung the gunbelt like it was a security blanket. Finally, he blurted, "Sh-she said she just wanted t' talk!"

"Who?" Dave asked, already knowing the answer.

Kenny looked away, ashamed. "Shelby. She found out I was gonna be guardin' one of th' prisoners while they was out and asked me t' bring whichever one I got to her, so's she could talk to 'em in private. She said she was gonna ask a few questions is all!"

"And ya didn't think it weird when she zapped him from behind?" Dave asked, frighteningly calm.

Kenny licked his lips compulsively, the pink tip of his tongue darting out lizard-quick. "They took him inside her cabin and told me t' wait. I didn't see nothin'. If-If I knew she was gonna...I wouldn't 've..." His narrow shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Dave. She told me we was protectin' the town."

Dave stared at the young man, his disappointment evident. He held out his hand. "Gimme yer sidearm. Yer off the team. I need people I can trust, 'n' you just proved you ain't trustworthy."

Head hanging low, Kenny passed him the weapon.

"Go on home, Kenny."

The young man nodded and left without a word. As soon as he was gone, Dave heaved a weary sigh. Shelby, God save her. She'd constantly butted heads with him and the Elders since she was forced to step down as head of law enforcement, but this... She had never gone behind Dave's back before. Shelby might not agree with the Elders' decisions, but she'd never outright disobeyed until now. Dave knew he had to confront her about this before she undermined his authority completely. She'd already turned one of his men to her aims, Lord knew who else she might be influencing.

Dave used his radio to inform those on duty of where he was going, then stowed Kenny's relinquished gun in the arms locker and headed out to have a chat with his ex.

* * *

><p>Doc fixed some kind of tea on an electric hotplate kept in the jail's office area. "It'll help ya sleep," he explained as he passed a steaming mug to Daryl (but not before taking a sip himself to prove it was safe).<p>

Not much of a tea drinker, Daryl nevertheless downed the whole mug, mostly because of the pleading look Lia gave him. It had scared him the way she'd reacted when she found out what happened to him. He never saw her lose it like that, not even when one of her kids was in danger. She always kept her head and saved the emotional breakdown for later. That she flew into near-hysterics because of him... It made Daryl wonder what she would do if something worse happened to him, if he was killed. Would she lash out at everyone? At herself? Daryl knew he would if he ever lost her.

He returned the empty mug to the old man, then lay down on the cot once again. The doctor left, the guard dimmed the lights. Hess was already asleep in his own cot, his faint snores oddly soothing in the darkened room. Outside the single window, the first pinkish rays of morning shone through, but there would be no work for the prisoners today. Today Daryl would rest, and the others would stay with him.

Lia stretched out on the cot pushed up beside Daryl's, gripping his hand in both of hers. Daryl turned his head to the side to look at her. "You okay?"

Her mouth twitched in a humorless smile. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Daryl gave her hands a squeeze. He was grateful that Lia didn't ask him for specifics about what was done to him. Daryl might find it in him to tell her one day, but not now. He couldn't even think about it now.

Lia scooted closer and kissed his shoulder. "Nobody's gonna touch you again. I won't let it happen."

Daryl's eyelids grew heavy, the Doc's tea and his own exhaustion overcoming him. "You gonna protect me?" he slurred, managing the tiniest of smiles.

The last thing he heard before sleep enveloped him was Lia's fierce whisper, "Anyway I can."

* * *

><p><em>Elsewhere...<em>

Camp was set up beside a small natural pond that provided them all with much-needed water. They boiled as much as they could and refilled the empty jugs, of which there were far too many. The last few places they'd made camp hadn't held a trace of water. Finding this pond was a welcome relief.

Carol woke early the next morning and snuck out of the small pup tent she shared with her daughter, careful not to wake the slumbering girl. The sight of the four adults and older kids standing guard reassured her as she walked barefoot over to the pond. There was a broad log spanning the body of water, still sturdy enough that the tree probably toppled less than a month ago. Carol walked halfway across its length and sat down, feet dangling into the cool water. Little fish darted up to investigate, their curious nibbling on her toes feeling like tiny kisses. Carol grinned and wriggled her feet, scattering the fish.

The first few days of the exodus were the worst. The blisters and leg cramps, the fear of sleeping out in flimsy tents instead of behind the comforting solid walls of home, the random encounters with stray walkers that appeared from behind trees without warning. Carol never liked "roughing it." She'd hated the weeks she spent at the quarry with the other survivors and wasn't happy with the way fate had brought her back to this dirty, sweaty, uncomfortable life. But it got easier. Blisters turned into callous, muscles hardened, eyes grew sharper for the telltale signs of danger. People slept easier, too. Fewer nights passed where the entire camp woke to the cries of a frightened child caught in a nightmare. And at least now they had a destination, of sorts. Carol was confident they would find a place. It might take a while, but they'd find it. They might even run into Daryl and Lia on the way. Carol hoped so. She prayed for their safety each night, as she prayed for her daughter and all the people they traveled with. She knew some would think her silly for it, but she still believed God was watching out for them all. How else could they still be alive after everything they'd been through?

Movement glimpsed in her periphery caused her head to jerk towards the left. As soon as she saw who approached the tension eased from her body and a ready smile graced her features. "Good morning."

"Mornin'." Morgan stepped onto the log and knelt beside her. He glanced down at her bare feet in the water and smiled. "Takin' things easy?"

Carol laughed quietly. "Not many chances to relax these days. Gotta grab the time when we can."

Morgan shifted a little. "I don't wanna alarm you, but I noticed some of the kids sneakin' away from camp yesterday. They were armed and only gone a few minutes, but they didn't tell anyone where they were goin'. Also, Nana said some food's missing. Not a lot, but enough for her to notice."

Carol frowned in thought. "Sounds like they're feeding a stray."

"Yeah, but a stray what?"

Good questions. There were all kids of animals in these woods, some of them not even native to Georgia - or to North America, for that matter. Like those ostriches.

"Have you told Rick or Shane yet?"

Morgan shook his head. "I figured I should tell you first."

"Why?" Her eyes widened in growing suspicion. "Is Sophia one of them?"

"'Fraid so. If it makes you feel any better, so is Dwayne." He smiled ruefully. "That's how I found out, by followin' him. I wondered where he kept disappearin' to when I was gonna give him a new chore."

Carol smiled and patted his knee. "Thank you for telling me."

Morgan rearranged himself until he was sitting beside her. He removed his shoes and socks and dipped his bare feet into the pond. "This _is_ nice," he grinned appreciatively. The little fish decided to see if his toes were any different from Carol's.

Carol leaned against his shoulder, her hands loosely gripping his arm. This was not something she would've done with any other man, certainly not her husband, of whom she secretly (and guiltily) felt relieved was dead. Morgan was the gentlest man she'd ever met. She knew he was capable of violence, of course - no one could survive the walking dead otherwise - but she had yet to see him so much as raise his voice in anger towards anyone. Certainly not towards his son, who he loved with the same protective ferocity as Carol did her daughter. She felt safe with him, and more than that, she felt respected. When Morgan looked at her, she knew he viewed her as an equal. He spoke to her as an equal, he valued her input, and he didn't get mad when she disagreed with him, which gave her the confidence to speak her mind more often. Carol hoped to one day see the sadness Morgan carried from his wife's death fade from his eyes, leaving room for other emotions to fill them. Until then, she would be his friend, and she would wait.

A rustle in the undergrowth on the far shore drew their attention to their right. A walker emerged, though it would've been more accurate to call it a crawler. It pulled itself along with one complete arm and a stump, dragging two lengths of chewed bone that were all that remained of its legs. Much of its face was gone as well, leaving gaping holes where its nose, mouth, and left eye used to be. It paused at the shore of the pond, propped up on its elbow and stump. Its head cocked to one side as it gazed at the water's surface. Perhaps it was confused by its reflection (if it could even see with its one milky eye), or maybe its head was simply sitting loose on its neck.

It said a lot about how they'd adapted to this world that Carol's and Morgan's only reaction to the creature was mild annoyance. Morgan got to his feet and reached for the club hanging from his belt. "I'll get it," he sighed.

"Keep an eye out for others," Carol reminded him. She hardly took note of the muted thumps and wet crunches of the walker's demise as she lifted her feet from the water, shook the excess moisture off, and stood up. "I'm gonna go get breakfast started," she announced.

Morgan waved in acknowledgment, his club dripping black fluid. He wiped it off on the grass and hooked it on his belt, then grabbed the exposed bones of the creature's legs and dragged it away from the pond, lest its seepage should contaminate the water. He kept his eyes peeled for any other walkers, just in case, but it looked like this was a loner. Satisfied, Morgan headed back to let Rick know about the kids and their illicit visits away from camp.

Sophia crawled out of the pup tent, hair mussed from sleep. She got to her feet, took one look at her mother's face, and knew she was about to have a talking-to.

Carol handed her daughter a steaming bowl of whatever canned food was the day's breakfast. "I heard something interesting this morning."

Sophia eyed her mother warily. "What?"

"I heard that you and some of your friends have been going out into the woods without anyone knowing. I also heard that some food's gone missing." Carol stared levelly at the girl. "Anything you want to tell me?"

Even if she'd contemplated such a thing, Sophia was never any good at lying. She had what people called an open face. Guilt shone out like a beacon. "It's not anything bad," she said, almost pleading, "She was hungry."

"Who was?" Oh God, were they feeding a stranger out there?

"Brownie," the girl replied.

Carol frowned. "Is Brownie a girl?"

"She's a dog. She's really nice," Sophia was quick to add on seeing her mother's concern, "She's real quiet and doesn't bite at all."

"Honey, don't you remember those dogs that attacked the twins and T-Dog?"

"Brownie isn't like that," Sophia insisted, "She's nice. We play with her all the time. She wouldn't hurt anyone."

Even if that were true, there were other dangers a stray dog presented. Such as fleas or ticks and the diseases they carried. Blood-sucking parasites were yet another delight to be found here in the wilderness. Carol knew she should put a stop to this, but that sadly hopeful look on her daughter's face brought her up short. Sophia so rarely asked for anything, hardly complained no matter the hardship. Carol found herself reluctant to take this away from her.

_Rick and Shane and the others will probably step in and end this anyway,_ she thought, knowing it was a cop-out. Instead, she gently cradled her daughter's face in both hands and told her, "You can't go off on your own without telling me. You know how dangerous it is out there. What if something happened and I didn't know where to look for you?"

Sophia nodded, contrite. "I'm sorry. I promise I won't sneak off again."

Carol kissed her forehead. "Alright. Now, eat your breakfast," she sighed, "We've got a long walk ahead of us."


	16. The Bad Guy

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_. Not the characters, not the show, not the graphic novels. Zip.**

Dave wasn't surprised when Shelby answered his knock right away, despite the early hour. She'd always been an early riser, when she slept at all, that is. On seeing him, she crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Mornin', Sheriff," she drawled, "Or was it Constable 'r just plain Officer? I can't ever keep track o' what you boys 're callin' yourselves."

"You c'n still call me Dave, like always," he answered coolly, "Mind if I come in?"

Shelby gave a little shrug and stepped aside to let him enter, shutting the door once he was inside the cabin. She shoved her hands in her pockets. "So, what's up?"

Dave turned to face her, his expression stony. "Remember when th' Elders decided all th' Tasers should be turned in 'n' disposed of?"

Shelby rolled her eyes, "Course I remember. It was a stupid order then an' it still is."

"Folks who got zapped more 'n once by yer overenthusiastic people didn't think so."

The petite woman snorted. "Why'd you bring it up?"

Dave didn't mince words. "Ya didn't turn in all o' the stunguns. Y' kept one for yerself."

Shelby's expression slipped into an unreadable mask. "Where the hell'd you get that idea?"

"You tellin' me I'm wrong?"

"Damn right y' are. I collected 'n' turned 'em all in myself. There ain't anymore Tasers in the town."

"Marks on Daryl Dixon's neck say different," Dave retorted.

Shelby tilted her head. "Daryl who? He one o' your pet trespassers? He's the redneck with th' sleeves torn off his shirt, ain't he?" she smirked, "Walkin' stereotype, that one."

"I saw th' marks on his neck," Dave insisted, "and on th' bottoms o' his feet. And before y' try 'n' convince me they were just bug bites, remember I _know_ what stungun burns look like. I've seen 'em plenty o' times."

Shelby sighed and shrugged in resignation, striding over to a bureau standing at the far wall and retrieving something from the bottom drawer. It was plastic and vaguely gun-shaped with two metal prongs jutting from the front. She tossed it to her ex-boyfriend who caught in one-handed. "I was hopin' it'd escape your notice," she said regretfully, "Only way we could take him out quick without leavin' bruises." Her eyes narrowed. "Unless he _told_ ya 'bout our little talk."

Dave pocketed the Taser. His shoulders sagged a little, as if weighed down by his disappointment in her. "He didn't say nothin'. Woke everybody up a coupla hours ago, though. Panic attack. Scared th' hell outta his ladyfriend." There was a moment's pregnant silence between them, then, "What'd ya do to him, Shel?"

Shelby's tone was almost flippant when she replied, "Nothin' that'd leave any damage."

"Not physically, anyway."

"Oh, don't gimme that!" she finally snapped, jabbing the air in front of her with an accusatory finger, "Don't go lookin' at me like I'm th' bad guy. I was only doin' what you 'n' the Elders don't have the balls to do. I'm tryin' to protect' us all from a potential threat."

"And what threat is that?" Dave closed the distance between them, face set in an angry scowl, "Hmm? What'd you learn from yer 'little talk'?"

Shelby glared up at the taller man, not the least bit intimidated by his looming over her. "I would've gotten answers if I'd had th' time," she said defiantly, "But I had t' get him back to you before sunset so ya wouldn't know. I knew you'd put a stop to it if y' found out, so me an' a coupla guys who agree with me were gonna question him some more tomorrow."

"You ain't gettin' near him or the other two," Dave growled, "Jesus wept, Shel, we ain't savages!"

She shook her head, abruptly saddened. "This world's savage, Dave. When're you 'n' the Elders gonna understand that? If y' don't have the stomach t' get your hands bloody to protect what's yours, none of us 'll make it." She placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his arm. "You all said my methods were too brutal, but it's 'cause of me this town's stable. No stealin', no fightin', no rape or murder. _I_ did that. I let 'em know they couldn't get away with even th' littlest wrong. And when things start slidin' because o' your soft-handedness, the Elders 'll know my way's right."

Dave brushed her hand away and took a step back, his face once again blank. "I'm gonna have t' report you to th' Elders. There'll be a punishment."

"Sure. They'll put me in th' stocks for a day or two, I'll tell 'em I'm sorry, and that'll be that." She looked as if she almost wished it would be harsher, just to prove her point.

Dave headed for the door, paused, then said over his shoulder, "I know you think I'm weak fer showin' compassion, fer not givin' in to th' temptation t' retaliate for every slight. I understand why you see things as kill or be killed. I jus' think we c'n be better than that, even if it makes survivin' that much harder."

The door clunked shut behind him and he walked away through the brightening morning, the confiscated Taser weighing down his pocket as his somber thoughts weighed down his mind.

* * *

><p>"You're not separating us again," Lia stated flatly. She, Daryl, and Hess made no move to exit the cell's open door. Daryl's eyes still held a wounded-animal look, though his features remained stoic. Dave wondered if he'd said anything about what happened to him yesterday to his companions. Somehow, he doubted it. Daryl didn't strike him as the kind of guy who shared his problems with others.<p>

"I've talked it over with th' Elders," Dave told them, "They agreed t' let y'all work together, long as there's guards keepin' watch."

"What about the ones who hurt Daryl?" Lia asked.

"Ringleader's bein' punished. But unless Daryl's willin' t' point out the rest, I'm afraid there's no way o' knowin' who else was involved."

"You mean you didn't '_question'_ this ringleader?" Lia asked sarcastically.

The lawman pursed his lips. "We asked, she wouldn't say. That's all we can do."

Lia looked at Daryl. He'd barely said two words since they woke. She knew he wasn't about to say anything about what happened to him, let alone point out who was involved. She'd seen this behavior in him before. When something bad happened to him, Daryl tended to wall himself up. Sometimes, eventually, he would talk to her about whatever troubled him. Many times he wouldn't.

Lia reached for Daryl's hand, letting him know she was there for him. He looked at her, his face blank. He didn't even squeeze her hand back. Lia tried not to be hurt by his lack of a reaction.

The three of them were to help build another cabin (this one belonging to a different family than the one that lied about Daryl's whereabouts). The family consisted of a middle-aged man, his pregnant wife, and their teenaged son. While the husband and son helped with the construction, the wife distributed water and food when needed. Even this relatively light activity seemed to tire her, as she took frequent rests beneath an awning that'd been set up to provide shade.

"Looks like she's gonna pop any minute now," Hess remarked quietly, careful not to let the husband and son overhear. Lia nodded and thought about Lori and Marilyn. Their due dates were coming up as well. She wondered if she would ever get out of this place in time to see them born.

The family was wary of the three strangers at first, but the work required communication so it wasn't long before some of the tension eased. The boy, Alf, seemed especially intrigued by them. It had been some time since he'd met anyone new and he peppered them with questions every chance he got, though his parents insisted that Alf maintain a "safe" distance from them. Maybe they were afraid one of them would hold the kid hostage.

It wasn't long before Alf and Hess developed a rapport. Hess was the kind of guy teens aspired to become: handsome, easygoing, confident with women. The embodiment of coolness. Lia suppressed more than a few laughs as she overheard Hess regaling the boy with stories of his travels (before and after the apocalypse) and saw Alf's rapt expression.

Daryl worked in silence, throwing himself into the task in the hopes of blotting out his memories with constant activity. He didn't notice the sweat pouring off of him or the sunburns forming on his arms and neck, didn't hear the call for a lunch break until Lia tapped his shoulder. He ate quickly and dove back into the work well before the others.

Hess and Lia exchanged worried looks. Even the guards looked a tad concerned. Daryl seemed determined to push himself until he collapsed from sunstroke or exhaustion. He didn't, though. He kept right on going like a machine until evening finally came and brought an end to the day's work. The three of them were escorted to the communal showers for a quick rinse, then taken back to the jail for the night. Dinner consisted of sandwiches made with some kind of flatbread. Daryl hardly ate any of his. This worried Lia even more than his silence. He'd always had a healthy appetite, no matter what his mood. She touched his arm and felt his muscles tense beneath her hand.

"Daryl," she hesitated, "I know you can't talk about it yet, and I won't pressure you. But please, don't shut me out."

Daryl looked at her, his eyes bleak. "I thought it was bad when my old man beat on me," he said, so quiet she could barely hear, "But I was a kid then, couldn't fight back." She saw his face change, his control slipping. Tears shone in his eyes, but didn't fall. "I couldn't fight back, Lia."

Lia's throat tightened. She imagined what it must be like, a man so confident in his own strength made helpless. The humiliation, the sense of impotence, had to be nearly as awful as the torture itself. She put her arms around him and ignored the way he leaned away from her embrace. She understood. "I won't ever think any less of you," she told him.

Daryl nodded and gradually pulled himself together. He picked up his sandwich, now somewhat dried out, and took a large bite out of it.

* * *

><p>Coco heard the approach of many feet and raised her head to sniff the air. She was curled up in a nest of dead brush, concealed from view amidst some scraggly bushes. Once her sensitive nose picked up the familiar scents of her new friends, she immediately got to her feet. But other scents, remembered scents from when her pack was massacred, gave her pause. Were they coming to kill her, too? Should she run?<p>

High-pitched voices called out a name, not Coco's name, but one she was willing to respond to since it meant getting fed and also receiving the attention she craved almost as much as food. "Brownie!" "Heeere, Brownie!"

Slowly, cautiously, she crept from her hiding place and approached the voices. She saw the half dozen boys and girls that befriended her, as well as several adults who eyed her with the same wariness in which she regarded them. She knew she was on dangerous ground. If they perceived her as a threat in any way, she would end up like Whitefoot and Midnight and the rest. Probably the smartest thing to do was make a run for it, but Coco was loath to be on her own again. She didn't have it in her to cope with loneliness.

Morgan, Rick, and Shane watched the brown dog slink into view. Its body language spoke of anxiety, but so far it showed no aggression towards them.

"Think I remember seein' that dog with the pack we took out," Shane said. Rick nodded in agreement. He noted how thin and scraggly the animal was, not starving but damn close to it. It kept its distance, pacing back and forth, its eyes never leaving them.

Carl crouched down and patted his knees with his hands. "C'mere, Brownie!"

The sound of his voice caused the dog's head to rise and its ears to point forward. Its tail wagged a little, but it didn't come any nearer.

"Doesn't seem aggressive," Morgan observed.

"She ain't, Daddy," Duane assured him, "Brownie's a nice dog. She lets us pet her and play with her and she ain't ever tried t' bite anybody."

"Friendly or not," Shane stated grimly, "this mutt might still be a threat. Fleas, ticks. Lord knows what kinda diseases it might be carryin'." His fingers tightened around his bow. He had an arrow nocked and ready, just in case. "Lettin' it stick around's too risky. We oughta put it down just to be sure."

"No!" several young voices rose in protest. The dog jumped at the sudden noise and moved back a few more steps.

"Dad," Carl pleaded with his father, "You can't kill Brownie. She wouldn't hurt anybody. She's our friend!"

Rick pursed his lips. He knew Shane had a very good point. Killing the dog or driving it away was the safest course of action. Had this stray so much as growled, the decision would've been easy. But looking at this scrawny, sad animal and the kids begging for its life, he found it difficult to fight his reluctance to do so.

Seeing his friend's hesitation, Shane felt his anger rise. He stepped closer to Rick, hissing in his ear, "We can't take the chance, man. This thing could be carrying Lyme disease or rabies, for Christ's sake! You willin' to risk Lori or Carl gettin' sick? 'Cause I sure as hell ain't willin' to risk Marilyn's health for the sake of some mangy dog."

He started to raise his bow, ready to take a shot at the dog despite all the kids' protests, but then Rick put his hand on Shane's arm and pushed it down. Shane glared and opened his mouth to utter some harsh words when a piercing whistle startled everyone and all eyes turned to Morgan, who'd knelt down and waited patiently as the dog trotted obediently over to him. He smiled when the dog got down on her belly and crawled a little closer, ears flat against her skull and tail wagging. Everything about her body language said she was eager to please.

"This girl belonged to somebody, once upon a time," Morgan stated. He made a kissing sound that seemed to excite the animal, but refrained from petting her. Many of the kids had bug bites on them. They might've been due to mosquitoes or chiggers, or they might have been the result of getting too chummy with this stray. None were sick, however.

Shane gritted his teeth. He knew from the look on Rick's face that he'd been voted down yet again.

Sensing his friend's turmoil, Rick tried to diffuse it. "It might be useful. Dog's nose can probably smell walker's comin' miles off. It'd be like an early warning system for us."

Shane breathed out through his nose and shook his head, turned away and started back towards camp. "Do whatever you want," he said, and felt angrier on hearing the petulance in his own voice.

On returning to the campsite, he headed straight to his tent. Marilyn was already inside. She was reclining on her sleeping bag, using Shane's rolled-up sleeping bag for a backrest. An empty plate with a few stray crumbs sat on the ground beside her. The moment she saw Shane's expression when he entered the tent her brow furrowed in concern. "What happened?"

"The mutt batted its big brown eyes and everybody decided to keep it," he grumbled. He set his bow and quiver aside, then drew his shotgun out of its sleeve and proceeded to clean it. He only had a handful of shells left and only planned to use it in the most extreme emergencies, but cleaning the weapon calmed him. The methodical process of laying out the individual pieces ridding them of their accumulated dirt was the equivalent to meditation for the former sheriff's deputy. Yet even as he went through the well known motions, Shane knew it wasn't enough to ease his frustration this time.

Marilyn watched her husband strip the weapon down and gradually reassemble it. She admired the surety of his hands as he manipulated each piece into its proper fitting, even as she worried over the way the muscles in his jaws bunched and twitched with repressed anger.

When he was finished and the shotgun put away, Shane sighed and murmured, "I'm tired of always bein' the bad guy, always pushin' for the tough choices nobody else wants to make. Only time anybody else agrees is when Rick does, and then they act like it was his idea all along." He shook his head bitterly. "It's like there's something about me that gives people a gut reaction, like they gotta disagree just 'cause it's me who said it." He knew he could be overbearing at times, but he had good reasons. He just wanted to protect the people he cared about.

Marilyn gazed at him in sympathy and patted the space beside her. "Come over here for a minute."

"What for?" he muttered.

She smirked. "'Cause I'm too tired to roll over to you." She patted her belly for emphasis.

Shane snorted and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He crawled the short distance across the tent and rested his head against the swell of his wife's stomach. As he felt Marilyn's gentle fingers comb through his hair, his mood slowly calmed. He listened to the sounds of their unborn child shifting inside it's mother's womb. "He's movin'."

"He _or_ she," Marilyn corrected.

"Nah, it'll be a boy," he said with a touch of smugness, "Walshes always have boys."

"And what if you just jinxed yourself into having a daughter?" his wife teased.

"Then she'll be a tomboy."

Marilyn laughed quietly. She stroked his hair a few more minutes in silence, then said to him, "I didn't marry a bad guy. I married a man who'd do anything to protect his family, no matter how hard it is or if it'll make other people see him as someone who always looks for the negative. We all need someone like that to keep our eyes open." She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to his lips. "I love this man."

Shane felt the last of his anger slip away at her words. "Sometimes I think I'd go insane without you."

Marilyn smiled and leaned her head back and shut her eyes. "God, I'm tired. You wouldn't believe how swollen my ankles are."

"You should ride in one of the carts tomorrow," Shane said.

She grimaced. "I don't wanna do that. Well, I _do_, but I'd feel like I was being a burden."

"You're not a burden," Shane kissed her belly, "You're precious cargo."

She giggled at the sentiment. "You always know how to make me feel better."

Shane sat up and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her tenderly. "Just returning the favor, baby."


	17. Closing In

**A/N:** I am so, so sorry it took so long to update. Working on this chapter, I slammed up against a brick wall of writer's block and couldn't find away around it. I hacked away at paragraphs, stepped back to give my mind a breather, and tried again only to continue to be stymied. I was about ready to give up altogether when a couple days ago a missile of inspiration blasted that wall down (sorry for the cheesy metaphors, but sometimes I just can't help myself). So anyway, I started this whole chapter from scratch and am already working on the next. Thank you all for your continued patience.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_. I'm just borriwing it. I'll give it back, I swear!**

"'Nother burn patrol's headin' out," Daryl remarked, keeping his voice low so only Lia and Hess heard. They'd finished erecting the new cabin and were now in the process of digging a deep hole for the outhouse. It was sweaty, filthy, back-breaking, work that left them doubting they would ever walk upright again. The only plus side was that it seemed to distract Daryl from his quiet brooding, much to Lia's relief.

Lia's brow furrowed as she watched the group of armed men and women headed for the gates in the town's precious few running vehicles, off to thin out more of the walker population by luring herds to the pit for incineration. "It's only been two days since the last one."

"You two need to listen in on the guards' talk more," Hess chided quietly, "They've been going on for a while about that huge swarm making its way from Atlanta. The whole city's probably emptied out by now."

Lia's stomach clenched at the thought. Millions of hungry walkers approaching en masse. The wall surrounding the village looked sturdy, but she doubted even it could stand up to so many of the dead at once.

Seeing her anxiety, Daryl said, "That many geeks won't be able t' stick together long. They'll break up into smaller herds 'n' wander off in different directions. Movin' through th' woods 'll scatter 'em even more."

His words did little to reassure her. She paused in her digging and leaned closer to the men. "If they did all abandon Atlanta, everyone back home would've had to evacuate to get clear of them. They could be trying to follow us. They might be coming this way," her voice dropped even further, "As paranoid as the people around here are, how are they gonna react when they see over a hundred refugees coming?"

Hess looked troubled. Daryl's scowl deepened. "We need t' keep our ears open, listen fer any mention of groups of strangers comin'."

"And then what?" Hess asked.

Daryl looked at him. "Then we find a way t' get our asses outta here so we c'n warn 'em 'bout this place."

Hess rolled his eyes. "Sure, like we haven't been thinking that since we got here," he muttered, "They're watching us 24/7. When they're not working us till we drop they've got us locked up in that damn cage. How exactly are we supposed to bust out?"

Lia gave a tiny nod in their guards' direction. "Right now they're too busy shooting the breeze to even notice we're having this conversation. We haven't been giving them any trouble, so they're slacking off."

She was right. At first, the three prisoners couldn't even whisper amongst themselves without the guards barking at them to shut up and get back to work. Now they were complacent, only occasionally glancing their way. "This isn't maximum security," Lia stated, "We can get out of here. We just need to keep a lookout for the chance."

Daryl plunged his shovel into the dirt with unnecessary force. "Sooner we get outta this fuckin' place, th' better."

* * *

><p>The fear that gnawed at Rick's gut, that woke him late in the night, was the thought of the massive walker herd that had driven them from their home catching up to them. The dead might have been slow, but they were also tireless. While the travelers bedded down for the night, it was every bit conceivable that the walkers continued to close the distance between them. Consequently, whenever they came across a tree that was both tall enough to offer a good view and had branches low enough to be reached with a good boost, Rick would ask one of the more agile kids to climb as high as they could and take a look in all directions, especially behind and ahead of them. These lookouts did spot walkers, but so far they were only small groups wandering with their usual aimlessness. Lori put forth the idea that maybe the dense woods had worked to their advantage, causing the horde to break apart in order to get past all the obstacles the trees provided. Rick would've loved to believe that.<p>

Recently the group was forced to forge a path closer to the edge of the woods where the trees were sparser just so they could get their carts through. This put everyone on edge as it left them feeling more exposed. Walk less than ten minutes farther out and one would come upon a highway, empty save for the occasional abandoned vehicle. Its presence increased the likelihood of encountering other people, something they all wanted to avoid since there was no guarantee such people would be friendly.

Shane gave Rahim a boost up into the tree they chose for today's looksee. The lowermost branch was so far above them Shane had to stretch his arms up to the fullest and let the boy stand on his upturned hands. Rahim strained and managed to grab hold and hoist himself up seconds before the adult's arms threatened to give out. The nine-year-old scrambled up the tree with all the confidence of a seasoned climber, unfazed by the dangers of gravity should he lose his grip. The tree swayed drunkenly the farther towards its crown he went. When he felt the branches start to bow under his weight, he hooked his legs around a fairly stable fork and raised the binocs to his eyes, scanning the terrain in a slow arc. He did this for a good twenty minutes before heading back down. Shane caught him as he slid down from the last branch and set him down on the ground. "See anything?"

Rahim nodded, his expression a mixture of worry and excitement. "There's a crapload o' walkers out there!"

Everyone tensed at this pronouncement.

"Where?" Rick asked, "Which way were they headed?"

The boy pointed in the direction of the highway, which made sense since it offered the easiest travel. "Out on th' road, goin' this way," he indicated a path running parallel to theirs.

Not good. Rick swiped a hand across his eyes in a tired gesture and sighed. "Any idea how many there were?"

Rahim shrugged his skinny shoulders. "Dunno. A lot of 'em. Like, _thousands_." This might have been simple childish exaggeration. But even so, if this was an especially large horde of walkers, they could very easily be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

"Least if they're stickin' to the highway they'll be easier to avoid," T-Dog offered without much optimism.

"We're gonna have to move deeper into the woods," Rick said, "We can't risk them noticing us."

"That's gonna slow us down," Dale cautioned, "We're having enough trouble getting the carts through as it is."

Rick nodded, not at all happy with the situation. "We got no choice if we wanna avoid facin' off with a herd of geeks."

Reluctantly, the rest agreed.

Lori lay in one of the carts on a sleeping bag spread out over a mound of some of the softer supplies. It was a bumpy ride, despite the cushioning, but it was better than walking. She grimaced at her swollen ankles, one of her least favorite aspects of pregnancy. Curled up beside her was Sally, who was dozing fitfully. She twisted around to glimpse the other cart ahead of hers where Marilyn and Aidan rode. The younger woman noticed her scrutiny and offered a weary smile which Lori echoed in sympathy. Cross-country travel and late term pregnancy did not go well together. It made one wonder how the hell the pioneers managed it.

"Water?"

Lori turned to her left to find Nana Shino walking alongside her cart, a bottle of water held out to her. Lori took the bottle with a nod of thanks and took a long drink. The water was unpleasantly warm thanks to the pervasive Georgia heat. As she replaced the cap she looked at the elderly Japanese woman marching tirelessly and asked, "Don't you ever take a break?"

The old woman chuckled, "Oh, believe me, once I fall asleep each night nothing short of a nuclear blast can wake me. But I come from a long line of people who keep going until God himself decides it's time to slow us down." She smiled cheerily.

Lori shook her head in dismay. "I don't know whether I should be impressed or worried."

"No need to worry about me," Nana assured her, patting the younger woman's arm, "You have plenty of other things to worry about. It will take a lot more than a long hike through the woods to finish me."

Sally stirred and fisted her eyes, blinking rapidly as she roused. Lori smiled down at the toddler and held up the water bottle. "You thirsty, honey?"

Sally nodded and took a drink, then curled up against the woman's side and dropped off again. Lori smiled and gently stroked he little girl's wispy hair. Poor thing. This journey was really taking it out of her. Out of all of them, truth be told. Even Nana, in spite of her upbeat attitude, showed signs of wear. There was a stoop to her shoulders that hadn't been there a couple of weeks ago. Lori wondered, not for the first time, if they would ever get to stop traveling and just _settle_. Or were they doomed to remain nomads? Future generations roaming the apocalyptic landscape in small tribes, ignorant of what the crumbling buildings and rusting machinery they encountered once signified?

Lori rubbed her belly and thought of the unborn infant she carried. She looked out amidst the crowd of children and picked out her son. Spotting Carl wasn't difficult since his father had given him his old deputy's hat. The boy walked with his small bow in hand, his expression far too serious for someone so young. Then Bobby said something that made him laugh and shove the other boy playfully, and suddenly he was just a kid again. Lori smiled. She was grateful for moments like that, however brief they were.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, a scout named Hank Combs, crouched in the branches of a stately fir, lowered his binoculars and chewed thoughtfully on a blade of grass he'd plucked from the ground earlier. He tucked the binocs into their protective case, tucked the case into his small pack, and made his descent from the tree. Once his boots were on solid ground he ran swiftly and silently through the woods, soon leaving the two much slower groups - both living and dead - far behind.<p>

The rest of the burn patrol waited idly by their vehicles, some of them sitting on the truck's tailgate, their backs to the containers of kerosene loaded in the flatbed. On seeing their scout's return, everyone straightened up to hear his report.

"Big ass herd on the highway," Hank stated, barely winded from his travels, "Pushin' a thousand I'd say."

Roberto Martinez, Elder Javier Martinez's cousin and former coworker in the same construction company that had erected the wall and much of the village, frowned in concern. "Can the pit hold that many?"

One of the other patrol members replied, "Might hafta light 'em but before they're all in there, but I think we can manage. Walkers 're so dumb they'll keep comin' long as they see somethin' to eat in front of them."

Roberto shrugged. "Long as we char most of them, I'll call it a win."

"There's somethin' else," Hank said just when everyone was about to mount up, "I spotted movement in th' woods, ahead of the walkers. Took a closer gander and saw they was people."

The tension rose. "Live people?" Roberto asked.

Hank nodded.

"How many?"

"Hard to say," the scout answered, "Definitely weren't a small bunch, though. Saw a coupla loaded carts gettin' towed, quite a few kids. Just about everyone was carryin' bows."

Roberto chewed the inside of his lip, his mustache bristling. "How far off would ya say they are from town?"

"Rate they're goin', two, three days."

Roberto debated whether to head straight back to let the village know about this new development or take care of the walkers first. There were several burn pits between the herd and town, so they could probably wait a day or two to take care of them. Right now, these living intruders might pose a larger threat. Roberto suddenly wished they brought an extra ATV to send Hank back with a message, but they needed the one they had to lure the herd to the closest pit.

"Damn it," he muttered, then in a louder voice, "Alright, let's head for home. The Elders need to know about these people." The fact that nobody argued reassured him somewhat. The burn patrol clambered into the truck while Hank mounted the ATV, and the two vehicles rumbled off down the highway.

News spread rapidly and the underlying fear everyone had lived with since the world was overrun by the dead soon overshadowed their determined normality. People murmured in close huddles, threw suspicious glares at Lia, Daryl, and Hess, and approached Dave Wilson and the Elders with questions about the possible danger. The Elders met and debated over what action to take. Should they confront the newcomers? Offer peaceful negotiation? Lay low and hope they passed them by? The discussion went long into the night and showed no signs of reaching an agreement anytime soon.

Meanwhile, another gathering took place in Shelby's cabin. Men and women who vocally or silently believed she never should have lost her position as the community's chief law enforcer. Most of them stood in the cabin's cramped interior, making the air stuffy even with the windows left open. Shelby stood beside the unlit fireplace, all eyes on her slight form. "We can't afford to wait anymore," she stated calmly, "By the time th' Elders figure out what to do, those invaders 'll be on our doorstep."

"They might not be invaders," someone spoke up, "Hank said he saw kids. They might be some families got driven outta their homes by th' walkers."

Shelby pursed her lips and shook her head. "Doesn't matter. We can't keep takin' in strangers, no matter how sad their stories are. We gotta think about _us_. _Our_ homes, _our_ families, _our_ resources. The days of actin' civilized are dead and gone. Like it or not, it's all about survival now. You wanna survive, you can't afford to be charitable or expect the best outta others, even if some of 'em are kids."

"So, what're you sayin'?" a woman asked, "We should fight?"

Shelby held up a reassuring hand. "Only if he have to. If these strangers won't listen an' find someplace else to go, we _make_ them go. This town's ours. We built it outta nothin' while we fought off the dead. We paid for this place with out sweat and blood and lives. I ain't willing t' hand it all over without a fight."

A young man, one of Dave's lawmen, spoke up, "An' if the Elders decide not to fight?"

Shelby immediately softened her tone, "Th' Elders have always been good leaders. But a committee ain't effective when it comes to defense. Our enemies won't wait for a consensus. In situations like this we need quick an' decisive action. Let th' Elders make the decisions for runnin' the day-to-day, while our militia falls under the charge of _one separate_ leader. Someone who'll get the job done without hours wasted on useless talk."

This was nothing new. Shelby had made a similar argument since the village was formed, but the Elders had decided against it. They felt there was no need for a full-on militia. They thought they were safe enough with their small police force, their high wall, and relative isolation. The rest of the town had gone along with their decision, for the most part. But now, with what could very well be a dangerous enemy practically at their door, Shelby's arguments were starting to be more persuasive.

One of the men who'd been assigned as a guard to the three prisoners, a middle-aged African-American named Tobias Ewens, raised a hand and said, "Even if we all think yer right, what can we do about it? Most o' the guns belong to the lawmen, 'n' Dave keeps those under lock 'n' key when we ain't on duty."

"I know," Shelby said, "We're gonna have to take the key off him."

Several people shifted uncomfortably. "I ain't sure I feel right about that," Tobias murmured.

"Nobody's gonna get hurt," Shelby promised, "That's the _last_ thing I want. This is about preparin' ourselves so we can protect everyone as best we can. If some of you ain't comfortable, you don't hafta get involved. You can walk right out that door," she pointed to the cabin's entrance, "No hard feelin's."

After a pause, a handful of people left. When no one else showed any signs of bowing out, Shelby smiled in satisfaction. These were the kind of people she knew she could rely on, hard men and women willing to do whatever was necessary. They wouldn't have survived this long otherwise.

"What about th' prisoners?" an older woman asked, "Y' think they might be part o' that group out there?"

"They might be," Shelby shrugged, "Don't really matter. They ain't going anywhere." What she didn't say, because she sensed her followers weren't quite ready for it, was that as soon as they took charge of the defenses, Shelby had every intention of taking care of the three intruders like they should have been to begin with. _They ain't our people,_ she thought, _They shoulda stayed away from us._


	18. The Coup

**A/N:** A short chapter this time. More on the way soon, that's a promise! :-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_. I'm just a really big fan.**

Dave Wilson was one of those men who naturally rose at the crack of dawn. He washed his face and hands in the basin on his bedside table, said his morning prayers, ate a quick breakfast, and headed over to the meeting hall/jailhouse to meet with the lawmen on duty that day and hand out their weapons. The "armory" was a large metal cabinet situated in the back of the closet-sized room that was his office. The key to the cabinet hung from a cord around his neck, which he never took off. Some thought he was overcautious when it came to the town's firearms, but Dave was never in favor of weapons of any kind, save those used for hunting. Sadly, such things were a necessary evil in this chaotic world. The best he could hope for was to strictly control their use.

Dave frowned at the sight which greeted him as he neared the jailhouse. Instead of the handful of lawmen waiting to receive their sidearms, a sizable group of men and women awaited his approach. Dave's footsteps slowed as he drew near. A petite figure moved to the front of the group and Dave felt a sigh of weariness rise in him as he recognized Shelby. She crossed her arms and craned her neck up at the tall man as he came to a halt less than three feet from her.

"Mornin', Shel," Dave said amiably, "Somethin' I can do fer ya?"

"Wanna tell us what your plannin' to do 'bout that gang of intruders headin' for this way?" she asked in a level tone.

The chief law enforcer shrugged, a strangely eloquent gesture from one so gangly. "Well, that'd be up to th' Elders. Soon as they decide what's t' be done about them, I'll be sure t' let y'all know."

"That ain't good enough, Dave," Shelby retorted, "Th' Elders do alright when it comes t' long-term plans, but somethin' like this requires snap decisions, an' they can't give us that. We can't waste time waitin' on them. We gotta take action now, before those people are at th' wall."

"What're you suggestin'?"

Shelby indicated the people gathered behind her. "We're formin' a militia. One that's gonna answer to just one person, not a committee."

"Lemme guess," Dave stated drily, "That one person 'd be you."

"I don't see anybody else steppin' up." Her critical glare at him bordered on disdain.

Dave pursed his lips. "Th' Elders won't like you arbitrarily makin' a decision this big. Somethin' like this'll effect the whole town. It shouldn't be done without their say so."

"They can't stop us," Shelby declared with calm confidence, "And neither can you, Dave." She held out a hand. "Gimme the key to th' armory."

Dave stiffened. "What make you think I'll jus' hand it over?"

"'Cause if you don't, we'll take it."

Several burly men came forward at that moment, their intent expressions revealing that they would not hesitate to use force. Dave's heart sank when he saw a couple of his own lawmen among them. Part of him wanted to make this hard for them, to fight back. But even if the odds weren't so stacked against him, Dave knew he couldn't strike out against people he'd come to know and care about in the months since the dead rose up. It wasn't malice or greed that motivated them to this action, but an understandable desire to protect themselves against an unknown enemy. Shelby was right, he couldn't stop them. With great reluctance, he removed the key from around his neck and placed it in her small hand. "This ain't right, Shel."

Shelby closed her hand around the key and smiled at him. "Relax. Nothin's gonna change all that much. You 'n' the Elders can keep runnin' things here inside the wall, while we take care o' the threats outside."

Dave shook his head. "You don't know those people 're a threat, Shel."

"If they're outside the wall, they're a threat."

Dave watched her unlock the cabinet and hand out the weapons and ammunition with a heavy heart. Once everyone in the newly formed militia was armed, Shelby started issuing orders. "Hank, take twenty men with you an' go intercept those intruders. Warn 'em off, if ya can, but if they give you grief, do what you gotta." She left it to him to decide what "giving them grief" meant.

Hank gave a curt nod and immediately started selecting the members of his party.

"The rest of us are gonna establish some order around here," Shelby announced, "Let everybody know about the changes goin' on and make sure nobody starts panickin' or gettin' the wrong idea."

She broke her people up into smaller groups to begin patrolling the village. The remaining five of her most trusted followers stayed with her. "We're gonna go pay a visit to th' Elders, let 'em know how things are gonna be from now on."

"I thought you were gonna let them and me stay in charge of th' town's affairs," Dave pointed out in a wry tone of voice.

Shelby turned to him, "You are. Soon as everything settles down 'n' people get use t' the idea of this militia. Meantime, why don't you take it easy? I bet you could use a couple days off."

Dave smirked. "I think I'll stick around. Wouldn't wanna miss the show."

"Suit yerself. Just don't get in our way."

Shelby sent out a messenger to summon the Elders, then she and her entourage went to wait in the meeting hall. Dave sat down on the edge of his desk, arms crossed and head lowered, and heaved a drawn-out sigh. "Jesus wept, woman. What're you gettin' us into?"

* * *

><p>It was obvious something wasn't right. It had been hours since they woke and they had yet to be let our of their cell for another day's labor or even be given their breakfast. The guard seemed just as clueless about the situation. He paced the length of the room, glancing at the door for any sign of someone to relieve him. Finally, the door opened and Dave Wilson stepped through carrying a tray which he set down on the chair the guard had vacated. The prisoners pressed close to the bars, straining to hear the two men's whispered conversation. Unfortunately, they were unable to make out more than an occasional word. They did see the look of alarm pass over the guard's face when Dave told him something. Finally, the chief patted the lawman on the shoulder and told him to go home and get some rest.<p>

Dave picked up the tray and brought it over to the cell. It contained three bowls filled with some kind of homemade muesli. Daryl, Hess, and Lia each took a bowl and started eating.

"What's going on?" Lia asked between mouthfuls.

Dave tucked the empty tray under one arm and scratched his head with his free hand. "Well, seems Shelby decided t' stage herself a coup. She 'n' a buncha people callin' themselves a militia 're settin' up shop as we speak."

Lia almost choked. _"What?"_

"Yep," the lanky man drawled, "Couldn't have picked a better time fer it. Everybody's worked up 'bout all the big herds o' walkers crowdin' the place, plus that group o' strangers headin' this way."

"We heard about that. Can you tell us anything about them?"

"They're mostly stickin' to th' woods. Scouts only caught glimpses of 'em. Saw some kids, an old woman, probably Chinese, a black man, a blonde woman-"

"Those are our friends!" Lia exclaimed, grabbing onto the bars and nearly dropping her bowl in her excitement. "They must've had to leave home when all the walkers started swarming out of the city."

"Well, Shel sent a posse out t' warn 'em away from here," Dave told her.

Lia looked at Daryl and saw the same roil of emotions in his eyes. Excitement at the thought that their loved ones were so near, and worry at what might happen to them should they encounter Shelby's militia.

Hess voiced another concern, "What's gonna happen to us?"

Dave's expression was less than reassuring. "Shelby 'n' her people 're bound and determined t' protect this town from what she considers a threat."

"And she hasn't made it a secret she thinks we're one of those threats," Hess muttered.

"You can't let this happen," Lia all but pleaded.

Dave responded apologetically, "These're my neighbors we're talkin' about. Most of 'em decent folks. We've been lookin' out fer each other since this town began. Y'all can't ask me t' turn against 'em."

"Please," Lia quietly begged, "We've cooperated with you. We haven't done anything wrong. We just wanna get back to our friends. Please, just let us go and we'll make sure they never come near this town. We'll find someplace else to live. You won't ever see us again."

The tall, thin man stared at her for a long, conflicted moment. "I believe you," he finally replied, "I do. But it ain't just a matter o' lettin' y'all outta this cell. You gotta get past th' wall, 'n' I doubt Shel 'd be willin' to open th' gate fer ya."

Something occurred to Hess. "What about where you've got those fishing nets strung out across the water? There's a smaller gate for that place and I didn't see that many lookouts when I had to work out there."

Dave considered this. "No place t' go 'cept out on th' water. Y'all any good at swimming?"

Lia and Hess nodded. Daryl noticeably tensed before finally making himself nod as well. Dave gave him a questioning look, but Daryl ignored it and said instead, "I ain't goin' anywhere without my crossbow."

"He's right. We should have our weapons at least," Lia agreed, ignorant of the two men's silent exchange.

Dave chewed his lower lip in thought. "I think I c'n work somethin' out. I'll have a coupla guys I trust escort ya out to th' nets 'n' meet y' there with yer things. But once y'all go out that gate, yer on your own."

"Then you _will_ help us?" Lia asked hopefully.

The chief lawman's mouth twisted in a humorless smirk. "Wouldn't be very Christian o' me t' let y'all get executed just fer passin' through. I'm prayin' I ain't wrong 'bout you meaning us no harm."

"You're not wrong," Lia assured him, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. We still gotta get y' outta here. Finish yer breakfasts," he headed for the door, "I'll go find some folks crazy enough t' go along with this."

Lia turned an elated grin to Daryl. "We're getting out!"

"I'm more worried 'bout us gettin' away," he said, though his words weren't entirely honest. There was an aspect of their impending escape that troubled him far more. He kept it to himself, however. He didn't want to risk hindering the others with his problem. He would just have to tough it out when the time came.

Lia sobered a little at his remark, but didn't let it dampen her enthusiasm completely. She focused on seeing her loved ones again. Nana Shino, Jessie, Carl, Shane, Glenn, Lori, Rick, Marilyn, sweet little Sally, and all the others. The thought of reuniting with them was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

The three of them finished eating, then waited for Dave to return with the promise of escape.


	19. Daring Escape

**Disclaimer (Dr. Seuss style): I do not own _The Walking Dead_. Not one bit, is what I said.**

Inside one of the largest cabins, the first ever built in this tiny community, a seventeen-year-old autistic boy sat at his drafting table, drawing the plans for his latest project to the minutest detail. All around him were scale models of his previous work: a table-top sized water wheel which powered a miniature generator when turned and fed electricity to a lightbulb, a small version of the counterweight system which opened the massive main gate at the wall, and a just-completed mock-up of the new aqueduct system that would soon be built for real, making it that much easier to irrigate the gardens and provide freshwater for everyone.

The boy's latest task involved an object his Mama brought to him. She'd brought it to him one morning after he finished his breakfast - scrambled eggs, cornbread, a glass of applejuice, as he had every morning - and washed the dishes himself so that he would know for sure they were really clean.

"Thomas," she said in her calm, level voice, "I have something to show you." The words she always used when she had another project for him. Then she set the object down on the table in front of him.

Thomas blinked at it for a moment, his brain sifting through images glimpsed in thousands of texts he'd read throughout his life until he settled on the correct one. Crossbow. He picked it up, looked it over, then stood and rested the metal brace at its front on the floor, held it steady with one foot, and pulled back on the string until there was a click as the catch took hold. He then raised the crossbow to his shoulder and took aim at the wall. His finger squeezed the trigger. There was a thwack as the bowstring was released, loud, but not too loud. Not like guns, which Thomas disliked. He repeated the firing process three more times, making a total of four. Four was a good, stable number. Four legs to keep tables and chairs up, four fingers to work with the thumb, four sides on every square, four letters in the word Mama. Four examples of four.

Satisfied, Thomas set the crossbow down on the table, perfectly centered, and looked at his Mama. "Better than guns," he said, "Quiet, easy to make, easy to replace ammunition."

"Better against walkers, then," his Mama ventured.

Thomas twitched. He didn't like thinking about walkers, they weren't right. They were like that rattlesnake he saw when he was nine, its head cut off, but still trying to slither away. It didn't know that dead things were not supposed to move. That's what made them dead.

"Reset takes too long. Too much effort," he said, returning his attention to the task at hand.

"Can you figure out a way to improve it?" Mama asked.

Of course he could. Thomas threw himself into the work as he always did, designing, assembling, testing. His mind was so absorbed in these tasks he barely took notice of the outside world. He was only peripherally aware of his Mama's agitation a few days later. People came by to talk to her, a woman and five men. The woman was Shelby. Thomas didn't like Shelby. She talked too loud and her name had a _shh_ hissing sound, like an angry cat. But she kept her voice low this time, so Thomas ignored her.

"Norma," Shelby told Mama, "Would ya mind comin' with us to the meeting hall? There's some changes that're gonna happen that all the Elders need t' hear."

Norma Henton pursed her lips and shook her head. "I can't leave Thomas alone, and he won't stop working until lunch."

Shelby frowned in impatience, "I know there's people you have watch him when you an' the other Elders meet. Who's closest?"

"Shelby, what's this about?"

"I told you. There's gonna be some changes. Now, are you gonna cooperate or do we hafta drag you out?"

Norma tensed and felt a sense of dread coming over her. Everyone in Shelby's group openly carried weapons which she knew for a fact should have been locked away. She knew they were unlikely to use them in town, but the sight of the guns made them far too intimidating to argue with. Swallowing, Norma answered, "Dannika usually watches him when I'm away."

Shelby sent on of her men to fetch her. Minutes later he returned with Dannika Lawton, Doc Lawton's granddaughter and apprentice. The young woman gave Norma a worried look. "What's goin' on?"

"I have to get to an emergency meeting," Norma replied, "Would you mind watchin' Thomas a while?"

Dannika glanced at Shelby and her crew, then nodded and stepped into the cabin. Norma shut the door behind her, then followed her armed escort to the meeting house.

Dannika checked in on Thomas and saw him hunched over his drafting table. She didn't bother to say hello, knowing he would be too absorbed in his work to respond. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost eleven. Thomas always had a cup of mint tea at eleven. She headed for the kitchen.

The clock chimed. Thomas waited until the eleventh chime, then set his pencil down and turned to his right where a small table was situated. His mug of tea was already waiting for him, the handle turned towards him the way he liked. Curled up beside the mug, taking up the rest of the table's limited space, was Thomas's cat. Her name was Mint, like the tea - a good word, four letters and starts with an M, like Mama. She was named this because her eyes were the exact same shade of green as the tea in his white porcelain cup. Mint was a good cat. She hardly ever meowed and she always walked around objects instead of pushing them out of their proper place. Whenever Thomas felt sad or upset, he would press his ear to her side and listen to her purr. The rhythmic sound seemed to fill his whole head, drowning out the troubling thoughts and making everything calm. Thomas used to hum a lot when he was upset. Mint's purr was better.

Thomas picked up the mug, blew away the steam four times, then took a careful sip. Not too hot, not too sweet. He drank in four sip increments until the cup was empty, then set it down on the table beside the dozing cat, picked up his pencil, and returned to his plans. All was right in his little world.

* * *

><p>Dave managed to retrieve Daryl's hunting knife, Lia's bow and club, and both quivers of arrows. As for the crossbow, he knew that was still at Norma Henton's place. On his way to her cabin, he saw Norma being escorted by Shelby and her goons towards the meeting hall. He waited a few minutes for the coast to clear, then hurried over to the cabin. Dannika answered his knock and blinked in surprise. "Dave?"<p>

"Hey, Danni. Mind if I step inside fer a sec? There's somethin' I need t' get from Edison."

The young woman moved aside to let him in, then shut the door behind him. "Dave, what's happening? There's people walkin' around with guns and Shelby's roundin' up all the Elders."

Dave sighed. "She 'n' a buncha folks 're usin' the sighting o' that group of strangers as an excuse t' stage themselves a coup. They're callin' themselves a militia, claim they're gonna protect us all from the bad ol' outside world."

Dannika shook her head in dismay. "All they're doin' is scaring everybody."

"That ain't the only problem. I'm bettin' Shelby won't be satisfied with handlin' outside threats. Pretty soon she 'n' her 'militia' are gonna take over law enforcement and maybe even replace th' Elders."

"Nobody's gonna let 'em do that," Dannika protested.

The lanky man shook his head. "They're lettin' 'em do _this_. Unfortunately, buckling under's way easier than puttin' up a fight. I doubt more 'n a handful of us is willin' t' do somethin' about it. But right now," he turned towards Thomas's workshop, "I got somethin' more immediate t' take care of."

"What?" Dannika asked, trailing after him.

"Probably better if y' don't know."

Dave smiled as he approached the teenager. "Hey there, Edison."

"My name is Thomas," the boy replied without looking up, his tone devoid of emotion, "Not Tom, not Tommy, not Edison. _Thomas_."

Dave grinned. It was a familiar routine the two of them went through. The one time he tried to skip it Thomas got so agitated he worried the kid might give himself convulsions. "Okay then. Hello, Thomas."

"Hello, David."

Dave saw what he needed on one of the cluttered tables. "D'you still need that crossbow, Thomas?"

"No," he answered simply, still focused on his work.

"Mind if I take it with me?"

"No."

Dave picked up the weapon, careful not to jostle any of the other items on the table. Thomas was prone to conniption fits of anything was so much as a quarter-inch out of place. "Thanks, Thomas," he said, tucking the crossbow under his arm, "I'll be goin', now. 'Bye."

"Goodbye," Thomas muttered.

Puzzled, Dannika followed Dave to the front door. "What're you gonna do with that?"

"Like I said before, yer better off not knowin'."

The young woman stepped between him and the door and stood with her arms crossed, a stubborn glare on her face. "You're up t' somethin'. I wanna know what it is. Y'know I hate bein' kept in the dark about anything."

Dave smiled at the young woman. "I'm sorry, Danni. Normally, I'd trust ya, but right now things're just too crazy. The less y' know 'bout what I'm gonna do, the safer you'll be."

Dannika bit her lip, wanting to protest, but knowing the older man would not budge. Finally, she sighed in frustration and moved aside. "Fine. Just promise me you'll be careful, whatever you're about t' do."

"I'll do my best." With a final nod of farewell, he left the cabin.

* * *

><p>Despite all the armed men and women walking around, sneaking out to the small gate that opened along the shore of the tributary was surprisingly easy. Probably because no one expected anybody to try it. Who would want to leave the safety of the wall?<p>

Dave, Daryl, Lia, and Hess crept along close to the wall to avoid detection from the lookouts and paused just downstream of the water wheel. The mechanism creaked loudly while the paddles splashed down into the water, ensuring their conversation was unlikely to be overheard.

"Th' tributary takes a sharp turn 'bout a mile from here," Dave indicated this with a sweep of his arm, "If y' let the current carry you 'n' get out before th' next switchback, y'all might get ahead o' the posse Shelby sent out."

"And we might reach our people before they do and warn them," Lia concluded hopefully.

Dave nodded. "Good Lord willin'. I wish I coulda found some life vests t' give ya. Think y'all can manage t' keep yer heads up?"

They nodded. The items they carried might hinder them somewhat, but they were traveling light. They were fairly confident in their swimming abilities.

Daryl glanced at the swift-flowing water and his hands tightened their grip on his crossbow. It felt good to have the weapon back. He'd felt naked without it. Its reassuring weight in his hands eased some of his misgivings over this desperate plan.

Dave leaned out to see if the lookout was paying much attention. It seemed luck was with them, the person on duty was turned aside, apparently lighting a cigarette. "Alright, go now."

"Thank you," Lia whispered to him, then she and her companions waded out, she and Daryl with their weapons slung across their backs, and Hess with Lia's aluminum club hanging from his belt. They trudged out until the water reached their shoulders and the surprisingly strong current threatened to knock them over, so they raised their feet and let themselves be carried off.

Dave watched their bobbing heads quickly shrink into the distance and vanish from sight, then he turned and slipped back through the small gate into town, no one else the wiser. With any luck, the prisoners' absence wouldn't be noticed for several hours, giving them plenty of time to make a head start. Dave wasn't sure what Shelby would do once she found out. Would she send more people after them? Find a scapegoat to blame? Or just use this as a way to excite people's fears? Perhaps all three.

Dave found a quiet place behind a partially constructed cabin to pray. He prayed for the safety of the escapees, for a way out of this increasingly dark situation, and especially for Shelby's soul, because she needed it the most.

* * *

><p>Daryl used to love swimming. Those times when he and Merle skipped school to spend their days at the creek were among the few good memories from his childhood. He and his brother, both usually so contentious, never fought against the current, but surrendered themselves to it, allowing it to sweep them away. Sometimes it took them an hour to walk back to the spot where they left their clothes, but they never complained. The sense of being carried off from their disappointing lives was worth it. Even in adulthood, Daryl enjoyed throwing himself into the water from time to time.<p>

But not now. This time, all he felt was barely reined-in panic. It took all his willpower to keep from thrashing uncontrollably as he and his companions raced down the tributary. As long as he kept his head above water, he could manage. But it was getting harder to do so. The clothes he wore, his crossbow and arrows, were like lead weights on him. The muscles in his limbs ached from the strain.

Lia and Hess were ahead of them, Lia farther away. As they traveled down the bend in the tributary, Lia sank below the surface for a brief instant before she rose sputtering. Hess's head had already been dunked a couple of times. It was only a matter of time before Daryl did the same. He fought it, wasting precious energy that he would need to pull himself out of the water once they reached their destination. Then it happened, a splash directly to his face. Daryl gasped and lost control. Before he could stop himself, he went under.

Water filled his ears, his nose, his mouth. He screamed, causing bubbles to erupt from his throat. It was happening again. He wasn't in a river anymore, he was back in the cabin with Shelby and her goons, his arms and legs tightly restrained and a heavy towel smothering his face. He couldn't struggle, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There was only the relentless pressure of the water being dumped over his face, flooding his sinuses and choking him. Utterly helpless, endlessly drowning.

Hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and jerked him to the surface. Daryl gagged and vomited water. His eyes blinked rapidly to clear his blurred vision.

"Kick your damn legs!" Hess shouted above the continual splashes. Ahead of them, Lia continued swimming, oblivious to what was happening between the two men.

"Can't," Daryl wheezed, "Can't move..." Already he could feel himself sinking again, but his arms and legs were only so much dead weight.

"Fine, let yourself drown," Hess snarled, "Works better for me anyway. When Lia breaks down over you I'll pick up the pieces. She'll be so damn _grateful_. She might even forget all about you someday." Hess grinned at the other man's expression. "All 'cause you were too much of a pussy to swim one little river."

Daryl's face contorted in rage. "You sumbitch!" He lunged, but Hess was already paddling away from him. Daryl swam after him, forgetting his panic and weariness. He was so focused on catching up to Hess and beating the shit out of him he didn't notice when the tributary widened and the current got gentler. He didn't see the next turn up ahead, signaling their stop. The next thing he knew they were clawing their way ashore and then staggering on rubbery legs. The three of them paused with their hands on their knees, breathing in gulps of air. After a few minutes passed Hess turned to Daryl and said, "What d'you know, you made it."

"Fuck you!" Daryl snarled just before his fist connected with Hess's jaw. It was a sloppy move that only clipped him, but it still sent the guy reeling.

"What the hell!" Lia exclaimed, quickly positioning herself between them. She glared at Daryl, "What's gotten into you?"

"It's okay," Hess waved a dismissive hand, "I sorta had it coming." He spat pink-tinged saliva, then smirked at Daryl. "You looked like you needed a little motivation."

Daryl threw him a hostile glare.

Lia looked from one to the other, then shook her head in impatience. "Whatever's going on between you two, save it. We don't have any time to waste. We gotta get to the others before that posse does."

No one argued. They took a moment to catch their breaths, then headed off in the direction Dave told them the group was last spotted. Considering they were traveling with small children and two expectant mothers, it was unlikely they'd gotten much farther along.

Daryl took the lead. With solid ground under his feet again, he was able to push back his anger at Hess, and the memories of what was done to him that had overwhelmed him before.


	20. Ambush

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_. Not the title, not the characters. Well, I own my own characters, obviously. But all those belonging to the show/graphic novels, not mine.**

Lori winced and rubbed her cramping belly. She wasn't alarmed. When she was pregnant with Carl she experienced pains like this weeks before he was due. Not pleasant, but nothing to get worked up about. She knew there was still time before this baby came.

She and Marilyn were on foot today. Neither of them enjoyed riding in the carts, lumpy and uncomfortable, burdening the people who towed them and slowing everyone down. Not that they were going much faster this way.

Up ahead, Lori saw Glenn and Jessie come trotting back from their scouting and discuss what they saw with Rick, Shane, Andrea, and T-Dog. Dale and Nana were farther back in the group, keeping watch over the little ones in case they got too tired or tried to wander off. Lori could tell by how the adults got more animated that there was something ahead. She hoped it wasn't another herd of walkers they would have to detour around. There seemed to be more and more of those lately.

The impromptu committee abruptly scattered, most of them moving through the rest of the group to spread the word.

"There's a shitload of geeks less than a mile away from us, just standing around," Glenn murmured to Lori in passing, "We gotta move quiet."

Easier said than done. A hundred-plus pairs of feet tromping through the undergrowth could make a surprising din, no matter how stealthy they tried to walk. Not to mention the carts and the bikes, and baby Aidan, who was still too young to understand that crying when he was hungry or needed his diaper changed could put him and everyone else in danger. Fortunately, Nana was watching over the little tyke today. Her sharp eyes picked up the slightest change in the infant's expression and interpreted what it meant, enabling her to head his bawling off at the pass. As long as Aidan was content, he kept quiet.

Lori wished they could just stop and wait the walkers out, but if the creatures weren't moving, they were unlikely to start until something got their attention. It might be hours or days before the herd took a step. The refugees would just have to sneak by them and take their chances.

Marilyn came up alongside Lori and linked arms with her. Lori smiled at the younger woman and the two of them leaned against each other, supporting each other as they made their slow, awkward way.

About ten paces back, Shane watched the two expectant mothers walking together. It was kind of weird seeing his wife and former lover getting along so well. These last few weeks of hard travel only seemed to solidify their friendship. Both women suffered the same difficulties and managed to keep each other's spirits buoyed. Shane was glad for that, if a tad put-off and, oddly, a little jealous.

A tug on his pant leg drew his attention downward. Sally toddled alongside the former sheriff's deputy, her short legs taking three rapid strides for every one of his. Shane paused with a smile, bent down, and scooped the little girl up, seating her on his broad shoulders. He felt her little hands rest on top of his head, her tiny fingers tangling in his dark curls. In spite of the seriousness of their situation, Shane continued walking with a grin on his face. He stared at Marilyn's back and imagined it was their own kid he was carrying on his shoulders.

Coco padded silently at the rear of the procession, the dog's nose constantly twitching. She smelled the walkers easily. Their stench was like a braying alarm, warning her away. She didn't like being this close to them, but at least they didn't seem to be getting any nearer. The humans were reassuringly adept at avoiding the unnatural things. With luck, they would soon reach cleaner air.

A sound, too faint for human hearing, made her pause and look behind her. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there. Turk. He started following the humans around the same time Coco did. She'd tried to approach him a few times, but he always warned her off with growls and bared teeth. He was much weaker now, skeletally thin, his fur matted in clumps. The stab wound on his side was healing badly, emanating a sickly odor.

Coco wasn't sure why Turk was following. He neither tried to attack stragglers, nor did he make any attempts to befriend. He simply trailed after the group, probably foraging from whatever scraps they left behind. It was doubtful he was able to hunt effectively in his condition.

One of the kids patted Coco's head, whispering at her to come along. The brown pit bull did so, dismissing Turk from her thoughts as quickly as they'd come up.

Turk slowed his already unsteady pace and raised his head to sniff the air. Like his former packmate, he easily scented the herd. After a moment's consideration, the mutt swerved to follow the stink to its source. It was not easy going. His poorly healed wound throbbed and his steps were shaky with exhaustion and fever. Turk knew he didn't have much time left. It was mostly willpower that kept him going this long. That and the desire to inflict the same hurt on the ones who slaughtered his pack and left him like this.

Eventually, he found what he was looking for. There were dozens upon dozens of dead, standing, sitting with their backs against trees, crumpled on the ground. Those who had their eyes opened stared blankly. With nothing to stimulate their senses, the walkers' rudimentary brains simply shut down like computers going into sleep mode. Nothing living invaded this space, not even the birds. Only the flies continued to buzz around the fresher corpses. Apparently, these insects weren't lively enough to hold the walkers' attention, because the bugs remained unmolested.

Turk took in the sight of them all. If his was a mind that worked in numbers, he would probably think that this dormant herd rivaled the humans' group in size. The refugees would have quite a fight on their hands if these creatures decided to come after them.

Turk thought about his massacred pack, and abut how Moby fell under the walkers' onslaught when they first tried to attack some of the humans. He barked. It was a ragged sound, but it was enough to cause several of the closest walkers to stir. Turk barked a couple more times, louder this time. Walkers lolled their heads in his direction and several of them started to moan. Those sitting or lying down struggled to their feet. Their noise roused even more of the herd, and soon they were all groaning and staggering towards the injured dog. Turk walked just fast enough to keep out of arms reach, barking occasionally to keep them moving. He slowly led the shuffling herd of the dead towards the living humans.

* * *

><p>"You hear something?" Andrea whispered.<p>

Rick frowned and strained his ears. There was something...far off...like a murmur.

Near the back of the group, Coco froze and stared off towards the direction of the dead-scent. Her hackles rose as she hunched down, a high-pitched whine escaping the terrified dog.

They emerged with a suddenness that made those nearest to them gasp and stumble back. Men and women with hard stares and rifles leveled on the group. One man with several days worth of salt-and-pepper beard on his craggy face spoke, "Y'all better turn yourselves around 'n' head back th' way y' came, 'less you wanna fight on your hands."

Several people started to raise their bows until Rick quickly waved them down. He held up both hands in a placating gesture. "We don't want any trouble. We're just passin' through."

"No you ain't," the man stated bluntly, "This is our territory. You all head somewhere else."

"Please, we're just tryin' to catch up with some friends of ours. They came out this way a few weeks ahead of us, lookin' for a place where we could settle." Rick indicated the people behind him. "Look at us. We couldn't take over your territory if we wanted to. Most of us are children, two of the women are pregnant. We're tired and afraid and all we want is to find a safe place."

The man, who was in fact Hank, didn't say anything to that. The truth was, he was caught off-guard by the fact that there were so few actual adults in this group. The strangers locked up back in town had said as much, but frankly, Hank hadn't believed them. And when he spotted them while scouting, he hadn't been able to tell how many were adults and how many were youngsters. All he'd seen was a large group intruding on his home. But now that he confronted them up close, Hank had trouble seeing them as a threat. They looked worn down by constant travel, especially the two obviously pregnant women. Most of the kids appeared to be less than ten years old. There was an old man and an even older woman who was carrying a baby. A little girl, no more than two or three, sat on one of the adult men's shoulders, staring wide-eyed at these armed newcomers.

Even without looking, Hank could tell some of his people were starting to lose their resolve. It was one thing to confront a gang of bandits, and quite another to turn away a bunch of desperate refugees. They looked at those kids and thought about the families they'd lost to the walkers, and how few children remained in their secluded village. The paranoia and isolationism Shelby had stirred in them lost some of its hold in the face of these ordinary people whose situation wasn't all that different from their own when the world first went to hell.

Hank opened his mouth, maybe to tell them he was sorry, but they couldn't go any farther, or maybe to say they could come back with them to town for a little while. No one ever found out, because it was at that moment that a mangy dog came running out into the clearing where they were all gathered, and then young voices towards the back of the group rose in fearful screams as the first walkers lumbered into view.

* * *

><p>Daryl moved with determined strides, practically at a run, the steady bumping of his crossbow against his back a familiar comfort he'd missed over the last few weeks. He didn't like not having the chance to properly dry off the bow after its prolonged soak in the river, but the moment was too urgent. They needed to reach the others before Shelby's goons did. He just hoped the bowstring would hold out.<p>

But it wasn't just the need to warn them of the danger ahead. Daryl was eager to see all the familiar faces: Jessie, Nana, Glenn, Marilyn, all the kids, all the adults, little Sally. Thoughts of his strange, extensive adopted family overshadowed even the memory of the flashback he'd endured while in the water. It shocked him how much he'd missed them all. When the hell did that happen? How did someone like him, who'd always done better alone, become so attached to so many people?

"Daryl, slow down," Lia panted behind him, "We're not gonna find them any faster if we don't get our bearings first."

She was right. Daryl almost smirked at his uncharacteristically careless behavior. He halted for a moment and started to take in his surroundings while his companions caught their breaths. Then a distant sound caused them all to tense.

"Was that gunfire?" Hess asked.

They heard it again, a series of muffled pop-pops. Lia's eyes widened, "We're too late."

Daryl frowned and took off in the sounds' direction at a run, the others right behind him.

* * *

><p>It was chaotic. Screams and arrows and bullets flying. A stray shot from a panicked militia man sent a small boy in a wide-brimmed hat tumbling to the ground.<p>

_"Carl!"_ one of the pregnant women shrieked.

"Goddamn it!" Hank bellowed. These weren't soldiers he was dealing with. Most of them had little experience with firearms outside of game hunting, even with the extra training and drills they'd gone through since the town was established. Hank struggled to maintain control. "Stop shootin' everything that moves! Get into formation and _aim!_"

The refugees were already herding the little ones and the unarmed adults into the middle of a protective circle. Hank directed his people to form up with them and soon militia men and women stood side by side with those they'd originally intended to drive away.

Rick dashed out, heedless of the walkers and the weapons fire, and scooped up his wounded son. The boy was still conscious, one hand clasped over his bloodied right shoulder. The hat his father had given him fell off his head. His face was pale with shock and pain, his freckles standing out starkly. "Daddy?"

"It's alright, Carl," Rick soothed, "I got ya." He ran with his son to the protective circle, depositing him beside a distraught Lori and a grim-faced Nana. It took all of Rick's willpower to tear himself away. But he needed to help with the fight against the walkers. He pulled out his rifle from its sling. There was no point in being stealthy now, and he was a much better shot with the gun that with his bow. He took a position beside Shane, who was using his shotgun.

The walkers fell by twos and threes, but more kept coming, undeterred by the deaths of their kind. All that dominated their primitive thoughts was the desire to reach the living meat in front of them. Bits of rotten flesh and bone and brain matter sprayed from the impact of bullets and spattered their oblivious neighbors. Arrows pierced eye sockets and foreheads, flew through open maws to erupt from the backs of skulls.

A militia woman screamed as Turk attacked her while she was reloading. The crazed dog mauled her arm before Glenn clubbed him with a crowbar. The mutt fell, dazed, and the woman he'd attacked drew her sidearm and shot him in the head. She kicked the dead animal's body away and it was immediately set upon by half a dozen eager walkers.

A frantic Coco's incessant barking drew several walkers away from the battle. They shambled after the pit bull who backed away slowly, terrified yet unwilling to run away and save herself. One of the geeks clawing towards her suddenly dropped with a crossbow dart jutting from its temple.

Daryl, Lia, and Hess arrived, Daryl and Lia firing their bows while Hess swung his borrowed club. They fought their way through the milling walkers to join with the defensive circle. There was no time for surprise or reunions. The killing went on and on, the bodies piled up until the walkers were clambering over the corpses, giving the humans more time to aim and put them down in turn. Inside the circle Marilyn held a wailing Aidan while Nana worked to staunch Carl's bleeding and Lori clutched her swollen belly and sobbed. The younger children cried in distress while the older kids grimly fought alongside the adults.

Finally, an eternity later, the last walker toppled. The survivors continued to hold their weapons ready, unwilling to believe it was really over. Coco wended her way through the scattered corpses and approached the group, tail wagging. The air was heavy with the stink of decay and spent gunpowder. The rustling trees and the sobs of the youngsters were the only sounds.

"Okay," Hank finally spoke, "I think that was all of 'em."

"We gotta get help for my son," Rick said to him, his expression both condemning and desperate, "One of your men shot him."

Hank pursed his lips. "Alright. We'll take y'all t' see Doc Lawton."

"Shelby ain't gonna like it," one of his people said.

"You let me worry 'bout Shelby," Hank retorted. He turned back to Rick. "You 'n' your people start gatherin' yer things. We gotta move fast."

Rick nodded and immediately set to organizing the group. While they were getting ready, Hank's gaze settled on a certain trio. They met his stare, Daryl in particular daring him to say something. Hank's eyes narrowed, but he kept quiet. None of his militia said anything, either, though there were plenty of significant looks exchanged.

Within moments everyone was ready. They headed out, Hank and his people in the lead, Rick carrying Carl whose shoulder was thickly padded with a makeshift bandage. The boy was awake and alert, but in obvious pain, yet he didn't utter a word except to mention that his hat was missing. One of the kids fetched it for him.

Nearly halfway to their destination, Hank noticed one of his men sported a limp. "You alright, Kev?"

"Yeah," the guy muttered, "Twisted my damn ankle." His brow was covered in a sheen of sweat. It might have been nothing. It was a hot day, after all, and they'd all just been through one hell of an ordeal. But Hank had learned the hard way never to be dismissive.

"Why doncha lemme take a look at it?"

Kev nonchalantly shook his head. "Nah. It ain't that bad."

Hank took hold of his arm and brought them both to a halt. "Lemme see it, Kev."

Everyone paused to stare at the two of them. Kev eyed them nervously. His hesitation caused tensions to rise. Even before he finally gave in and bent down to pull up his pant leg, they all knew what they would see.

As bites went, it wasn't much. The walker's teeth hadn't sunk that deep. But they did break the skin, and that was all it took. Already the skin around the wound was inflamed with infection.

Hank gave the doomed man a sympathetic look and drew his sidearm. "I'm sorry as hell about this, Kev."

Kev held up his hands and started to back away. "W-wait. It ain't that bad, Hank. M-maybe Doc could-"

"There's nuthin' Doc can do about it and you know it." Hank aimed the weapon at his head. "I'm sorry."

"Wait! Don'-" Kev's head jerked back as the gunshot cut him off. Somebody screamed. The man's body crumpled to the ground.

Hank returned his gun to its holster, then gestured at two of the closest militia men. "Pick him up. We'll take him back t' town for burial."

As the two men gathered their fallen comrade's body, Hank met Rick's hard stare with his own. "Y' got somethin' t' say?"

"You didn't hafta put him down like that. You could've given him a choice-"

"A choice?" Hank cocked an eyebrow, "If I'd o' done that, Kev woulda carried th' disease home with him. I ain't riskin' someone bein' too cowardly t' do the right thing. We're still alive 'cause we protect ourselves. That's why you all are gonna get looked over soon as we get t' town. Nobody gets past the wall who's been bit. Nobody still walkin', got it?"

Rick's lips thinned. He looked down at his bloodied son, cradled in his arms, then turned to the other man again. "Got it."

* * *

><p>Daryl didn't miss the irony of him voluntarily walking back to the place he'd tried so hard to escape. It didn't matter. He was too busy riding a high of relief and joy. Relief to find everyone still alive, and joyous at their reunion, regardless of the circumstances.<p>

He was carrying Sally. The toddler had run to him as soon as the fighting ended and hadn't let go since. Her arms and legs clung to him with amazing strength, as if she knew if she dared to relax her grip for a second he would vanish from her life again. Daryl whispered a promise in her ear that it would never happen. He would not abandon her again, no matter what the future held.

Lia walked alongside him, holding his free hand. Every once in a while she would reach over and gently rub Sally's back. Each time she did that the child relaxed just a little more. She was beginning to believe that her adopted parents were really there, that they weren't going to leave.

"Daddy," she muttered into his shoulder.

Daryl hugged her a little tighter. "I got ya, little bit."

Hess hung back a ways and watched this little family scene. A deep sense of melancholy came over him. This was something he knew he would never have. Most times he didn't give it any thought, but right now seemed to warrant a little musing over what might have been. There'd been plenty of chances in his life to settle down with someone, but truthfully that wasn't his nature. He'd made peace with that aspect of himself a long time ago, but sometimes, like now, he still felt something like regret.

A snuffling sound drew his attention to the brown dog that sidled up to him. Hess smiled and held his hand out to her, "Hey, girl."

Coco sniffed his outstretched hand, then abruptly ducked her head and backed off. Hess let his hand drop to his side and shrugged. "Don't worry, I know it's nothing personal."

The pit bull uttered a faint whine and slinked away from him. She didn't like what she'd smelled on him. It was not a good smell.


	21. Through the Gate

**A/N:** Bit of a short one this time. The next chapter will be longer.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_. I'm not selling anything, this is just a little harmless homage.**

Shane kept one arm draped protectively over Marilyn's shoulders. His wife's face was pale with delayed shock over what they'd just been through, and she clutched at her belly with both hands as if their unborn child needed the extra support. Shane couldn't help but worry, all the stress and strain she'd endured, and her looking so fragile. He would have had her in one of the carts, but there wasn't any more room. They'd loaded all the smallest children into them so they could reach the village that much sooner. Marilyn and Lori had no other choice than to walk. Even in his anxiety, Shane was proud of his wife's determination not to slow the rest of them down. Her pace was steady in spite of her obvious discomfort, and she showed no signs of flagging.

"We'll get there soon, baby," Shane assured her.

Marilyn nodded and even managed a convincing smile for him, but didn't waste her energy on words.

Ahead of the procession, and widening the distance every minute, were Hank and a very anxious Rick still carrying his injured son. Carl's bleeding had slowed and he stayed conscious and lucid, but his father wasn't about to let those positive signs hold him back. If he weren't so concerned about jostling the boy, Rick would have been running by now. The fear that Carl's condition might suddenly worsen was a constant gnaw in the former lawman's mind. He couldn't survive the loss of his son, of any of his family. He didn't have the strength.

As they closed the distance to town, Hank pulled out a handheld radio and called ahead to let Doc Lawton know he was needed. The old doctor would be waiting at the gate with his medical bag at the ready when they got there.

If the guards at the wall were shocked by the fact that the posse was returning with the very people they'd been sent to drive away, they didn't let it hesitate them. The gate swung open with its usual smooth motion and Doc and his granddaughter stepped out to meet their new patient. Doc gave Carl's wound a quick examination.

"Well, good news is th' bullet passed clean through. Blood's clottin'," he added with a nod of approval, "Let's get this boy t' my cabin where I c'n fix him up right."

"Is he gonna be alright," Rick asked worriedly.

"Oh, I patched up worse 'n this in my time," the old man soothed, "He ain't gonna have use o' his arm for awhile, but long as infection don't set in, I think he'll be jus' fine." Beckoning, he and his granddaughter led Rick and Carl through the growing crowd of gawkers towards the cabin which doubled as the town's clinic.

Hank stayed to wait for the rest of the group to show. They finally arrived at the gate more than twenty minutes later, the refugees bedraggled with exhaustion, the militia people solemn. Two of them carried the body of the bitten man wrapped in a borrowed blanket. A young woman in the crowd found out who he was and let out a piteous wail. Those closest to her were quick to offer what comfort they could, all the while secretly grateful they weren't the ones to suffer the loss of a loved one.

People stared at the newcomers, at the dozens upon dozens of children of different ages. Many throats tightened and eyes stung at the sight of them. So many had lost their families to the walkers. The children in the village were few, most of them orphans. No one had believed it possible for so many youngsters to have survived.

The rest of the Elders gathered at the forefront to greet the unexpected arrivals. They seemed uncertain as to whether they should be welcoming at all, but looking at all the tired young faces gazing back at them made the thought of turning these people away difficult.

Finally, Louann Nealson took the initiative, "Hello to you all. We don't have any extra cabins right now, but y'all are welcome to use our meeting hall 'til we work out somethin' better."

"'Welcome'?" Andrea snapped, the wisps escaping her ponytail making her look even more haggard, "Is this your idea of welcoming people? Sending out a bunch of armed thugs?"

"Please, try to understand," Norma spoke, "We were just tryin' to protect ourselves. For all we knew, y'all could've been bandits."

Andrea scoffed and indicated her companions with a sweep of her arm. "Do we look like bandits to you?"

Dale placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "We're all tired," he said gently, "Why don't we let everybody rest before we start throwing blame around?"

The blonde woman sighed and nodded, too worn down to sustain her anger. But before they started to follow the Elders to the meeting house, a petite woman and several burly men elbowed their way through the crowd and moved to block their path. "They are _not_ comin' in here!"

Javier Martinez held up a placatory hand. "Shelby, look at 'em. They're no danger. We can post guards, to be on th' safe side-"

Shelby ignored the Elder and rounded on Hank. "You were s'posed t' keep 'em away from here," she snarled, "Not usher 'em through th' goddamned gate! And _you_," she pointed an accusatory finger at Daryl and Lia, who happened to be in her line of sight, "How the fuck did you get out? Who helped you?"

Daryl felt Sally tremble at the woman's enraged voice. He subtly tightened the pressure of his arms around the toddler to reassure her, and he and Lia glared at Shelby without deigning to respond.

"Shel," Hank stated in a level voice, "We ain't gotta worry about a buncha kids and a few grownups. We oughta be worryin' about all them walkers out there. There's more of 'em roamin' around all the time. Hell, we were ambushed by more 'n a hundred of th' bastards-"

"And brought back god knows how many infected!" Shelby retorted.

Surprisingly, the normally timid Carol spoke up, "None of us were bitten. You can check us."

"Shelby, we can't just turn 'em away now," Louann reasoned, "It'd be heartless."

Shelby laughed incredulously. "You...you're all so _innocent_," she spat the word like a curse.

"Shelby," Javier said in a stern tone, "This is a town matter, it ain't militia business. That means its up to th' Elders. And right now we say these people can stay."

"Course you'll say that," the young woman said harshly, "'Cause you're _weak_. Y' think bein' kind and havin' right on your side's enough. None o' you have a fuckin' clue what kinda world this is."

None of the Elders said anything. They beckoned the refugees to follow them once again. They barely went two steps when Shelby suddenly drew her sidearm and pointed straight ahead, at Daryl who was still holding Sally. Everyone froze. A few people gasped in shock. Shelby's arm was horribly steady. "They ain't comin' in," she declared in little more than a whisper.

Lia immediately reacted by drawing an arrow from her quiver and aiming her bow at the woman threatening her family. "Put the gun down," she hissed.

The air grew thick. Several militia men brought up their weapons and the refugees did the same. Arrows and guns pointing every which way, threatening to unleash a bloodbath at the slightest provocation. All it would take was one nervous trigger finger, one slip of a bowstring. Daryl clutched the fragile toddler in his arms. He wanted to turn and shield her, to fling her away from the danger, but knew if he so much as twitched the woman would shoot him and probably kill or wound Sally incidentally.

Norma raised both her arms and shouted, "Please, for god's sake! Everybody put your weapons down!"

"I ain't lettin' them set one foot in my town," Shelby declared, not backing down.

"Stop pointing your gun at my family!" Lia yelled, pulling back on her bow even more. For the first time in her life she was experiencing what could only be described as murderous rage. She hated the woman in front of her with every fiber of her being. Hated for what what she'd done to Daryl and what she was doing now. Lia felt a powerful urge to let the arrow fly and imbed itself in the bitch's neck and wondered why she was holding back.

"This is insanity," Nana Shino murmured, sensing disaster.

Standing beside her husband, who held his shotgun at the ready, Marilyn gazed wide-eyed at this terrible spectacle. Her imagination conjured up images of blood and small bodies littering the ground. She saw with nightmarish clarity Shane toppling like a felled tree with a massive hole in his chest and his eyes gone hopelessly blank. It was going to happen, she knew it. She knew there was nothing that could stop it. She was going to lose everything.

The pain that had been pulsing through her off and on throughout the day, that had grown progressively worse as they marched towards this isolated town, rose up at that moment with a strength that overwhelmed her. She couldn't hide her reaction to it anymore. Marilyn abruptly doubled over and let out an agonized cry that startled nearly everyone out of their growing fury. Shane literally dropped his shotgun in his hurry to reach his wife's side. "Somethin's happening with the baby!" he cried, looking frantically around for some kind of help.

In an act of foolish bravery, Louann stepped forward and shoved Shelby's outstretched gun aside. "Enough of this. All of you," she raised her voice to the militia, "put your guns down now!" She'd used the same no-nonsense tone in dealing with countless unruly classrooms over the years, and many obeyed out of pure reflex. The violence that had threatened to break out was past. Louann turned to Shane and Marilyn, "I'll take ya to Doc's."

The remaining Elders and several guards escorted the rest of the refugees to the meeting house. Lori broke away from the group and made to follow the smaller party to Doc Lawton's. She wanted to see for herself that Carl was being cared for. A few people noticed her departure, but nobody said anything or tried to stop her.

Daryl and Lia exchanged threatening glares with Shelby in passing. It went without saying this was far from over. Shelby was left standing more or less alone, still clutching her gun at her side, her other hand clenched so tightly her fingernails broke through the skin of her palm. Townspeople milled around her, either following the group headed for the meeting hall or returning to whatever chores they'd interrupted. In her seething preoccupation, Shelby didn't notice a certain figure pass close behind her, not until she felt a sharp jab in her arm.

"Augh!" She slapped a hand over the sudden pain as if swatting a mosquito. When she drew her hand away a second later, she saw a spot of blood on her finger. "What the hell?" She looked around, scowling, but whoever stuck her was already gone.

Later, in the meeting house, someone started a fire in the fireplace to heat some water to make tea. Hess wandered over and stared into the flames for a while. Nobody noticed when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny cloth-wrapped bundle, stained with unnameable fluids, which he then casually tossed into the fire. Soon all that was left of the mysterious bundle was the old safety pin that had held it shut, which became hidden beneath a pile of ashes to be swept away the next morning.


	22. A Helpless Rage

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_. I ain't selling and you ain't buying, we're just sharing. ;-)**

Doc Lawton looked up from treating Carl's wound as the new arrivals stepped into his cabin, which was getting pretty crowded what with him, his granddaughter, Carl, Rick, Lori, and now Louann, Shane, and Marilyn all taking up space. The old physician took in Marilyn's pained expression and heavily pregnant state and then turned to his granddaughter, who'd been assisting him. "Danni, mind helpin' this young lady out while I finish up here?"

Dannika blinked in surprise. She'd assisted her grandfather in numerous procedures, including delivering babies, but had never been asked to take the lead before. She only hesitated for a second, though. If Doc was confident in her abilities, she wouldn't disappoint him. "Alright," she said, setting down the tray of sterile bandages and hurrying to lay out some clean sheets on the floor - the only space available - before going to help Marilyn. Taking the expectant mother's left arm while Shane clutched her right, they guided Marilyn over to the prepared spot on the floor and helped her lie down.

Marilyn clung to her husband's hand, "D-don't leave, okay?"

Shane smiled, kneeling down beside her, "I ain't goin' anywhere, baby."

Dannika carefully palpated Marilyn's belly. "How long between contractions?" she asked.

"I don't know," Marilyn grimaced, "Not long. Two or three minutes, maybe?"

"Baby's turned. That's good," Dannika hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. She slipped Marilyn's underwear off, then propped up her knees and lifted her skirt, grateful the woman hadn't been wearing pants. "Looks like you only got a coupla centimeters to go."

"How long've you been in labor?" an astonished Shane asked his wife.

Sheepish, Marilyn replied, "I started having cramps late last night. I thought they'd go away, but they just kept getting worse."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I...I didn't want you to worry," Marilyn said, close to tears, then hissed as another contraction hit.

"It's okay," Dannika soothed, "Just breathe, like this." She demonstrated some basic Lamaze. Marilyn imitated her and the breathing exercises seemed to help. Either that or they distracted her from the pain, which she was equally okay with.

Doc finished bandaging Carl's shoulder. "There now," his warm smile included the boy's hovering parents, "Your boy's gonna be just fine. Just needs time t' heal up is all." He handed Lori a packet of extra gauze and bandages and gave instructions on changing Carl's dressings periodically. "Y'all can go on over to th' meetin' house with the rest o' your people."

Lori hugged the package to herself. "Thank you."

Louann, who'd spent the past few minutes trying to keep out of everyone's way, spoke up, "I'll show you th' way."

Rick scooped his groggy son into his arms and he and Lori followed the older woman out the door. Rick met Shane's gaze in passing. "Y'know I wish we could stay..."

Shane smiled and nodded. "It's alright. You look after Carl. We'll be fine here."

As soon as the other family was gone, Shane focused all his attention on his wife. He gently wiped her sweaty bangs from her forehead with his free hand. "You ready to be a mama?"

Marilyn let out a tired laugh. "Ready as I'll ever be, I guess. You ready to be a daddy?" She grimaced from another contraction and Shane led her through her breathing. He never did answer her question.

* * *

><p>Lia was still worked up over what almost happened. She paced back and forth in the space she and Daryl had claimed in the crowded building, teeth gritted and hands fisted at her sides. Normally her anger would be gone by now - Lia never stayed angry for long - but this time the rage kept boiling up in her like a reactor, and it was all focused on one person: Shelby. Lia never believed herself capable of actually hating another human being, but now a big part of her wished she'd put an arrow in that bitch when she had the chance. She'd threatened and harmed those Lia cared about most, and anyone could see she'd continue to do so until she was forcibly stopped (<em>killed<em>, Lia's angry thoughts insisted).

Hess casually leaned against a nearby support beam, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, and watched Lia's restless stalking. She reminded him of a caged tiger. He might have tried to say something to diffuse the situation, but a sixth sense warned him she might just take his head off for his troubles, so he wisely chose to keep quiet.

Daryl, in bizarre contrast, seemed totally calm. He knelt on the floor and unrolled a sleeping bag one-handed, his other hand occupied with keeping Sally balanced against his shoulder. The toddler had dozed off at some point. All the earlier excitement had finally gotten the better of her. Once the sleeping bag was spread out Daryl gently lowered the sleeping girl onto it. Sally's body instinctively curled into a fetal position and her thumb found its way into her mouth. Daryl covered her with a blanket, his movements surprisingly tender for a man who could best be described as "rough around the edges". As soon as the child was settled, he stood and turned to the still pacing Lia.

"Lia."

She didn't respond. Probably hadn't even heard him. Every line of her body was tense. She looked ready to explode. Daryl couldn't remember ever seeing her like this. _He _was the one who normally struggled with his anger. It was kind of disorienting seeing it from the other side. He found himself wondering how Lia always did her best to calm him down when self-preservation would have demanded she get the hell away from him. Daryl didn't like seeing her like this.

He stepped into her path, bringing her up short. Lia blinked in momentary surprise, then glared at him. "What?"

Daryl placed his hands on her shoulders. "Y' gotta settle down."

She jerked herself away from him. "Settle down? You-"

Daryl gestured for her to lower her voice, as several people had nervously glanced their way. Surprisingly, Lia continued in a much quieter, though no less intense, whisper. "She had a gun pointed at you. A _gun_," she hissed, "At you, at Sally! She... and I..." Lia trailed off, unable to find the words to describe her sense of helpless, terror-fueled rage. She held both hands out to him in a gesture of supplication, her fingers curled like claws. They were trembling.

Daryl pulled her into a rough embrace. He didn't know what else to do. It seemed to work, though. He felt some of the tension ease from Lia as she clutched wads of his shirt in her fists. He threw a look Hess's way, who took the hint and moved off to give them as much privacy as could be had in this situation. Daryl rubbed Lia's back, a bit awkward since he wasn't used to offering comfort.

"I can't lose you," she murmured in a voice thick with emotion, "I lost everybody I loved to the walkers, I can't handle losing you, too."

Her confession touched him. Daryl knew Lia loved him, but he hadn't realized she also _needed_ him, maybe even as much as he needed her. "I ain't that easy t' get rid of," he said, trying to sound flippant.

Lia relaxed a tad more and let out a quiet sound, not quite a laugh. Then she hugged him a little tired and whispered, "What'd she do to you?"

Now it was Daryl's turn to tense. He hadn't gone into any detail over what Shelby and her cohorts did to him, and Lia didn't press him. But now she was asking for more than hints and vague descriptions. He didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to push it all down, like he always did with bad experiences. And there were plenty of bad experiences throughout his life. "I can't-"

"Please," Lia buried her face against his neck, "I need to know."

Daryl sighed. After a long moment, he finally spoke, "Remember a few years back when th' news showed that stuff 'bout them terrorists bein' held? Th' way they were interrogated?"

Lia searched her memory. Already the years before the walkers overran the planet had taken on an unreal quality, as if it had all been a fantasy. "You mean those stories about waterboarding the prisoners?"

Daryl nodded.

"Is that what she did to you?" she asked, almost whispering, "She waterboarded you?"

Daryl closed his eyes and forced the words out. "She had me tied down on a table. Two o' her men threw a sack over my head 'n' poured water on my face 'til I couldn't breathe. 'Nother guy would jab th' soles of my feet with a stungun. Sometimes they traded off, sometimes they did both at th' same time. I dunno how long it went on. Felt like forever."

He didn't go into the gory details. He didn't have to. Lia could see it all too clearly.

"I'm so sorry."

"I ain't broken," he snorted, "No more 'n usual, anyways."

"We can't stay here," Lia said, almost desperate sounding, "We can't stay in this town as long as _she's_ here. I can't... I don't know what I'd do if-"

Daryl kissed her, more from instinct than deliberate consideration, but it worked. The last of Lia's tension subsided and she pressed her body to his, giving herself over. Their kiss deepened. Lia cupped the back of his head with both hands. Daryl tangled his fingers in her braids, his other hand at the small of her back, pulling her closer so she could feel how this was affecting him. Lia finally parted her lips from his with a groan of regret. "Well, I can't stay mad now. Should I be worried that you've figured out how to manipulate me?"

Daryl chuckled. "I'm just makin' it up as I go. You ain't got a thing t' worry about. I'm still clueless."

"That's a relief." Lia grinned.

* * *

><p>Shelby sat alone in her cabin, brooding. She couldn't understand how everything changed so drastically. This morning she had complete control. She had the weapons and the people loyal to her cause to use them. She had all voices of opposition subdued and the approaching enemies soon to be driven off or wiped out - she wasn't picky over the outcome, as long as it was in her favor.<p>

But now...

She still had the weapons. She still had the militia. But somehow control slipped away from her. People walked to and fro, acting like it was just another ordinary day. They ignored the armed men and women patrolling the walkways or standing watch like they were part of the normal scenery instead of objects of fearful respect. They talked about the newcomers. The children.

It was the children that turned them all. Those big sad eyes in those soft little faces. Nobody understood that these weren't the same as the kids they remembered from the world before the walkers. They couldn't have survived this long if they were still innocent and pure. Youth didn't automatically mean harmlessness. Not anymore.

But no one else saw this. No one listened to Shelby's words, not even the people who'd sided with her. They welcomed those little Trojan horses with open arms.

Shelby scratched at her arm. That sting or bug bite or whatever the hell it was itched and burned. When she pulled up her sleeve and twisted around to look at it she saw the puncture wound had become a small yellow blister, and the surrounding tissue red and inflamed. Was it possible for a bug bite to get this infected so quickly?

She got up to get her first aid kit. As she swabbed her arm with disinfectant, the blister popped. Shelby hissed at the sharp pain of the disinfectant seeping into the wound. If it stung this bad, it had to be working. She stuck on a band-aid and promptly forgot about it, preoccupied once again by the massive, unforeseen setback to her plans. She barely even noticed the way her arm throbbed just a little.

* * *

><p>Shane's and Marilyn's son came into the world shrieking and flailing in helpless rage. To them it was the most beautiful sound in the world. The newborn continued his lusty cries while Dannika cleaned and examined him and severed the umbilical chord. Her grandfather watched her deft actions with a proud smile and a nod of approval. Dannika then bundled the squirming infant in a soft blanket and handed him over to his exhausted mother. The baby calmed as soon as he was in Marilyn's arms. His little face peered out from his swaddling, beet red from all his crying. He blinked myopically up at the two beaming faces of his parents.<p>

"Look at him," Marilyn breathed.

Shane reached out to gently stroke the baby's cheek, unaware that his own cheeks were stained with tears. "He's perfect." He looked at his wife, sweaty and worn out from her ordeal, yet so full of happiness that he thought she'd never looked more beautiful. He kissed her tenderly. "Thank you," he whispered.

Marilyn smiled up at him. "Thank you."

Doc Lawton put an arm around his granddaughter and guided her towards the door. "We'll give y'all some time t' get acquainted," he said.

The couple muttered their thanks, their attention riveted to their child. Doc and Dannika exchanged amused glances and they left the cabin.

With the help of some carefully arranged pillows, Shane managed to position himself so that he and Marilyn were both sitting up with Marilyn's head propped against his shoulder. They both stared at their baby, who was already beginning to drift off.

"What're we gonna call him?" Shane wondered. They'd discussed various names, but never really settled on anything, preferring to wait until their child was born before making any decisions.

Marilyn tilted her head back to meet her husband's gaze. "Can we call him Logan?" Logan was her father's name. They'd always been close, talking on the phone every day when she went to college in another State. Now she wasn't even sure he was still alive. She might never know.

Shane smiled and gazed at their son thoughtfully. "Yeah. He looks like a Logan."

"What about his middle name?"

Shane grinned. "Richard."

Marilyn laughed. "Oh, Rick'll love that."

"Well, he _is_ my best friend."

"Okay then," she touched the infant's brow and intoned solemnly, "Logan Richard Walsh."

Shane smirked. "Maybe I can call him Lo-Ricky."

"Don't you dare!"

"C'mon! It's catchy."

Marilyn's expression softened. "I love you."

Shane kissed her again. "I love you, too." He placed a hand on their son's head. "Told ya it'd be a boy."

Marilyn smiled.


	23. Wishful Thinking

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_. But that's okay, 'cause I got this fanfic to play with. :-)**

After spending the night in Doc's house to recuperate, the new family rejoined the others in the meeting house the next morning. Shane walked with his arm around Marilyn's shoulder, looming over her and the newborn she cradled as if to shield them from an unknown threat. He only relaxed a little when they returned to the relative safety of their friends. Their situation in the town was still too uncertain to let down his guard.

Everyone doted on the new mother and her baby. Cooing, smiling, waving hello, praising Logan's cuteness. Shane couldn't suppress the proud grin that threatened to split his face in two. Rick came over and gave him a companionable slap on the back. "That smile of yours gets any bigger your head's gonna flip open like a Pez dispenser."

Shane laughed. "I remember you grinnin' like an idiot after Carl was born. Now I know how you felt." His smile waned a little as he watched his family at the center of a crowd of well-wishers. "I've never been so happy and so scared shitless in my life." He turned to his best friend. "If these people make us leave, how're we supposed to keep goin' with a newborn?"

Rick shrugged, though the gesture was by no means indifferent. Lori's due date wasn't that far away, after all. "Same way we've been goin', I suppose. Keep moving and hope to hell we don't run into any big groups of walkers or bandits."

Shane exhaled slowly through his nose. "We can't keep doin' this. Everybody's run down. We need a safe place t' settle."

"They might let us stay here," Rick suggested.

"These people are paranoid. They pulled guns on us, for Christ's sake. On a buncha kids!"

"They're just scared, same as us," Rick said in that reasonable way of his, "Who can blame 'em? It ain't like we haven't acted the same way." He thought about the Vatos back in Atlanta, and how close both sides had come to killing each other because of their mutual distrust.

"This place is protected," Rick observed, "They're well-fortified, raising their own food, got a steady supply of water."

"Leadership seems kinda shaky, though," Shane remarked.

Rick sighed. "Yeah. Lia, Daryl, and Hess filled us in on what all happened to them while they were here. That woman who almost shot Daryl, seems she an' some of the local militia staged themselves a little coup. They didn't seem to think the elected council was doing enough to keep away dangerous outsiders."

Shane snorted. "Great."

"On the plus side, though, that meltdown she had seemed to have lost her some credibility with her followers. One of the people who brought us food mentioned she ran off to her cabin in a huff and hasn't come out since."

Marilyn bent down so that Carl could get a look at the baby. His face was somewhat drawn from his ordeal, and his arm was in a sling, but he was standing on his own and didn't seem to be in too much pain. Shane nodded towards him, "How is he?"

Rick smiled. "He's good. The Doc put some kinda poultice on his wound, if you can believe it. I dunno what's in it, but Carl says it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as before."

Shane was relieved to hear that. He loved Carl almost as much as he did his own child, and would have been every bit as devastated as Rick if the boy's condition had taken a turn for the worse. He patted his friend's shoulder. "One of these days our luck's gonna run out."

"Yeah," Rick muttered soberly, "Let's just hope that day's still a long ways off."

* * *

><p>The Elders debated the newcomers' futures at Norma Henton's place. Being in Norma's home, in proximity to her son, proved a good incentive to keep everyone calm and reasonable. The last time they raised their voices over a disagreement, the noise caused Edison to throw the most horrifying tantrum any of them had ever witnessed. It took Norma the better part of an hour to finally calm him back to his usual blankness. No one wanted a repeat of that experience.<p>

The militia wanted a say as well, and in Shelby's continued absence, Hank filled in as the devil's advocate. Mainly, his arguments against the refugees' staying was due to resources and the risk of disease. He pointed out that many isolated, small towns in centuries past were wiped out by a single stranger carrying an unknown virus into their midst.

"You and your men brought them here," Louann pointed out, "If one of 'em is a Typhoid Mary, the damage is already done."

"I ain't shirking my responsibility in makin' that choice," Hank retorted, "But somebody's gotta point out all the risks so we're all aware next time somebody comes along. And they might be just as innocent as the folks we got out in th' meeting house, with their own sad story 'bout trying t' find a home. But we can't keep takin' in strays. We got too much to lose here."

"Fine, but we're not talkin' about people we're gonna encounter in the future," Louann insisted, "We're talkin' about _these_ people _now_. Yes, there's a lot of 'em, but we got plenty of canned and dried foods stashed away to feed 'em all 'til we raise more crops."

"That food's for emergencies," Norma pointed out.

"We can spare it," the former schoolteacher argued.

"There's also the issue of space," Javier said, "Adding another hundred-plus people's gonna make things a little tight around here."

"Please, we're not that crowded," Louann snapped. Norma made a slight wave of her hand, warning the other woman to lower her voice. Everyone glanced into the other room, where Edison was finishing up his latest project, his mind occupied in its own strange world and oblivious to the heated discussion taking place less than twenty feet away. Louann sighed and continued in a calmer tone, "Okay, putting aside the fact that letting them stay is the compassionate thing to do, think about what having more children here would do for everyone's morale. They'd be a reminder of what we're surviving for, and give some of us a reason to keep going."

The other Elders looked at her in sympathy. It was no secret she missed teaching, and the handful of youngsters already living in town just weren't enough. The tiny classes she taught only served to remind her of what she'd lost. Louann missed the crowded classrooms filled with rowdy, inquisitive students. They were what she once thrived on, and now they were gone forever.

Doc finally chose that moment to speak up. "Problem with this situation is, nobody's wrong. We c'n debate it 'til we're all blue in th' face, but I can't help but think this is too big for just us to decide."

"What're you suggesting?" Norma asked, "Put it to a vote?"

The old man nodded. "Exactly. This affects th' whole town, let the town decide." He turned to Hank. "That sound fair t' you?"

Hank pursed his lips. He could imagine what Shelby would have to say to that. But Shelby wasn't here. "Alright, we'll go with whatever th' majority decides."

"An' we won't have any trouble from th' militia," Javier stated tersely.

Hank shook his head. "None. Long as it's a fair vote."

They spread the word. Since the meeting hall was full, the voting was held outside Norma's house. The Elders decided it was best to keep it anonymous. Each adult was given a slip of paper and told to write either GO if they thought the refugees should leave, or STAY. The paper slips were then folded in half and dropped into a box to be counted later.

Dave Wilson added his own vote to the growing pile in the box. In Shelby's continued absence, the Elders asked him to once again take leadership of the militia/law enforcement. He turned them down, however. He knew he would never be able to effectively lead men and women he could no longer trust, so Hank took on the role instead.

After dropping the slip of paper into the box and stepping away, Dave scanned the surrounding faces in hopes of catching a glimpse of Shelby, unlikely as that was. Nobody had seen her in more than two days, ever since she holed up in her cabin. This worried him. Either his ex was plotting something, or she'd sunk into a deep depression. Dave decided to go check on her.

_I'm probably gonna regret this,_ he thought ruefully. He had no idea how right he was.

* * *

><p>Several of the refugees loitered outside the meeting house, watching the parade of locals coming and going from the voting area. Among them were Dale and Andrea, the two of them leaning nonchalantly against the building, side by side.<p>

"So, whadda you think?" Dale asked, smiling at his companion, "Think we're gonna get voted off?"

Andrea continued to stare ahead. "I think," she finally answered, "I'm tired of wandering. Tired of not knowing if or when we'll ever be able to stop." She sighed and closed her eyes in weariness. "I just wanna _settle_."

Dale put a comforting arm around her and let her rest her head against his shoulder. "You're not alone," he said fervently.

Andrea smiled. "This isn't such a bad place," she mused, "The people are pretty nice. I mean, aside from that whole pointing guns at us thing."

"Definitely not the best way to greet the new neighbors," Dale chuckled, "Though certainly memorable."

The sound of Hess's guitar drifted out of the meeting hall's open door. Neither of them could identify the song, but they found it soothing.

"I think they're going to let us stay," Dale said.

Andrea raise her head from his shoulder to meet his gaze. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged. "Just a hunch. Or maybe wishful thinking. But I figure if we don't maintain at least a little bit of hope, there's no point in going on."

The younger woman smiled and kissed his bearded cheek. She knew exactly what he meant.

A small ruckus a short distance away drew their attention. Some of the kids were kicking a ball around with the local children, the little pit bull Brownie dashing after the ball like it was chasing down a rabbit, much to the youngsters' amusement. Seeing them all getting along, it was easier to believe things might work out for everyone. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

* * *

><p>The cabin was silent, the windows concealed behind the shutters. The place might have been empty for all Dave knew. He knocked on the door anyway. "Shel? It's Dave."<p>

No response.

"I ain't here t' fight with ya. I just wanna make sure yer okay."

Still nothing. She was probably snubbing him. Dave was about to turn away when he suddenly heard a loud thud, like something heavy hit the floor. Startled, Dave called out again, "Shelby?"

His hand hovered over the door handle. After a long moment's internal debate, he finally opened the door and cautiously entered the cabin. He blinked in the darkened interior. The furniture was mostly hulking shadows to him. "Shel?"

A haunting groan answered him. Alarmed, he hurried to the nearest window and threw open the shutters. Sunlight poured in, spotlighting the figure sprawled on the floor. Dave rushed to her side. Shelby was pale and gaunt, and sweating so much it dripped from her short hair. When Dave touched her brow it felt like a furnace. He knew what this was. No one could have survived the past year and not known. "Sweet Jesus..."

Shelby's eyes slid open. They were glassy with fever, but thankfully still human. "Dave?"

"It's okay, Shel. I'm right here."

"We gotta...let the dog out."

Dave's heart sank. "You don't have a dog, baby."

"Gotta let him out," she muttered vaguely, "Been stuck inside all day..."

How could this have happened? Dave searched for signs of a bite. When his fingers brushed against the band-aid stuck to her right arm she hissed in pain. He whispered reassurances as he carefully peeled the band-aid away to see what it concealed. It wasn't a walker bite. What he saw instead was a puncture wound, swollen with infection, red and black veins radiating from it. The stink of decay rose from it and Dave was suddenly aware of all the flies buzzing around, drawn by the scent. His blood went cold. He knew in his gut this wasn't a freak accident. Someone deliberately infected Shelby with the walker virus.

Someone had murdered her.


	24. Murder

**A/N:** Here's another one for ya. This time I included more Daryl/Lia. A bit fluffy, but I figured they deserved a break.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Walking Dead_, much to my chagrin.**

_Stay...Go...Go...Stay..._ Louann placed a hash mark in the relevant columns as the votes were tallied. More than halfway through the box and it could still go either way.

The Elders had added their own votes as well. Louann had written STAY on her slip of paper. They hadn't discussed it, of course, but she was pretty sure how the others had chosen. Javier definitely would have voted GO, not because he didn't care about the refugees, but because he truly felt it was all they could do just to look after their own. Doc, on the other hand, she was sure chose STAY. He was never the kind of man to turn away those in need, especially after he'd treated several of them, therefore making them "his" patients pretty much for life. The only one Louann wasn't sure about was Norma. She knew Norma felt sympathy for these people, but at the same time, she was well known for putting her son's safety and wellbeing ahead of everyone else's. And if she felt there was even the slimmest chance these newcomers might pose a threat, however farfetched, she would turn them away in a heartbeat. Even if it meant hating herself after.

So, among the Elders, that was two STAYs, one GO, and one unknown. By those odds alone, the refugees had at least a fifty-fifty chance.

Louann's train of thought was interrupted by a series of rapid knocks, followed by the door swinging open before anyone could respond, revealing the tall, lanky frame of Dave Wilson.

"We ain't done countin', yet," Javier informed him.

Dave shook his head, "Ain't here about that. I need th' Doc."

Doc Lawton regarded him calmly. "What's wrong, son?"

Dave swallowed, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing. Something in his tight expression spoke of desperation barely held in check. "It's Shelby. Doc, I...I really need you t' look at her, okay?"

Norma straightened, face etched with concern. "What's wrong with her?"

"I can't say yet, 'cuz I might be wrong," Dave swallowed again, and they realized he was fighting tears, "I wanna be wrong."

Doc nodded, rose from his seat, and picked up his black bag, which was seldom far from him. "Alright, Dave. I'll go take a look at her."

The younger man nodded his thanks and quickly led him out the door. After a few moments' silence, the others got back to counting votes, though it was obvious they were all distracted by what just happened. Sometimes, a person just knew something horrible was about to happen, and knew just as strongly that there was nothing they could do to prevent it. The worst kind of premonition.

* * *

><p>Privacy was a rare commodity when everyone was crammed together under one roof. It was fine when Lia and Daryl were catching up with all their friends and loved ones, and when they were all recovering from both physical and emotional exhaustion. But now...<p>

Lia tried to remember the last time she and Daryl had a moment all to themselves. She blushed in delayed embarrassment at the memory of that night in the cell they'd shared with Hess, a stolen moment fueled by desperation and fear as much as the desire for intimacy. They hadn't been alone then, and they hadn't been alone since. Someone was always there with them, be it guards or friends. And poor little Sally clung to their sides like a lamprey since their reunion. Her fear of abandonment was all too understandable, given the fact that was exactly what she and Daryl had done, good intentions aside.

The interior of the meeting hall was quieter now, since most of its residents decided to go outside and enjoy the sunny day. Lia appreciated the silence. She lay on her back on the spread-out sleeping bag she shared with Daryl, reading from a dogeared James Patterson novel somebody scrounged up somewhere. She was hoping to distract herself with it, but so far barely managed to get ten pages in. Always fretting, she though to herself sardonically. Sally sat a short distance away, drawing on the wooden floor with colored chalk. Daryl straddled one of the benches, tending to his crossbow after he finished honing his hunting knife to razor sharpness. It was a good thing the townspeople let everyone keep their weapons. If they'd tried to take Daryl's crossbow from him again, it would not have gone well.

The comforting strum of Hess's guitar filtered through the meeting house's open door, mingled with the sounds of kids playing. He was inside for a while, but then a couple of people requested he play for them and he'd been out there ever since.

A faded red ball suddenly bounced through the door and slowly rolled to a stop, bumping into Sally's leg at the end. Eight-year-old Joey and seven-year-old Tina came running after it and Joey scooped the ball up in his hands. Both kids were flushed and slightly out of breath from all their running around outside.

"Hey, Sally!" Tina crouched down beside the toddler, "C'mon out an' play!"

Sally glanced at the ball in Joey's grip, obviously tempted, then threw a worried look first at Lia, then at Daryl. Lia continued to stare at her book, seemingly oblivious. Daryl met the toddler's gaze and gave a reassuring nod. "We ain't goin' anywhere, little bit."

Sally bit her lip, then put her chalk down and got to her feet, taking Tina's outstretched hand. The three youngsters trotted out the door and soon the sounds of kids' voices shouting happily rose up again.

Daryl set his crossbow aside, stood, and casually strode over to the door and shut it. Lia peered over her book and cocked an eyebrow. "Trying to keep the heat in?"

Daryl smirked. "Sumthin' like that."

Lia sat up and glanced around. They were the only ones left inside. She looked at Daryl, who was walking towards her. A slow smile worked its way across her face. "Y'know, somebody could still come in here. That door doesn't lock."

Daryl's shoulders rose in a careless shrug. He dropped to his knees in front of her on the sleeping bags, then reached out and cupped her face with a gentleness that would have surprised anyone but Lia. "When're we gonna get another chance?" he murmured, trailing a calloused thumb across her bottom lip.

Lia's expression became wistful. "I'm not sure a quickie's gonna do it for me."

"Then let's take it slow," he said, as much a challenge as a suggestion.

Lia's eyes darted past him to the closed door one last time. _The hell with it_, she thought, tossing the paperback aside and putting her arms around Daryl's neck, drawing him in for a kiss. Daryl slid his hands around to her back and pulled her close, his breath escaping through his nose in a long sigh that ghosted across Lia's cheek.

* * *

><p>Doc Lawton only needed to give Shelby a cursory examination to know. He'd seen this too many times for there to be any doubt. He turned his solemn dark eyes on Dave and shook his head. "I'm sorry, but you're not wrong."<p>

Something vanished from Dave's eyes then, and despair took its place. Despair and determination. "Somebody did it to her."

Doc glanced at Shelby's freshly bandaged arm. Dave had moved her to her bed before fetching the doctor, and after only a few minutes the sheets were already soaked through. Shelby was unconscious, drenched in fever-sweat and panting heavily. The blackish veins running out from her wound had already spread to her shoulder and wrist.

Doc sighed. "I've never seen anybody catch it like that before, but a s'pose it's possible. Somebody pokes a needle into a walker, then jabs a healthy person. A little bit o' infected fluid's all it really takes. But I can't think o' anybody who'd do somethin' like this."

"I can," Dave stated grimly. He headed for the door. "Keep an eye on Shel."

"What're you gonna do?" Doc asked in sad suspicion.

Dave paused and regarded the older man calmly. "I ain't lookin' for revenge, Doc. Vengeance is God's domain, 'n' His alone. All I'm lookin' for is justice." And with that, he left the cabin with its bleak occupants and made his way purposefully towards the meeting house.

* * *

><p>The long, hard weeks of travel, imprisonment, and forced labor left their marks on Lia's body. What little body fat she had before was long gone, leaving behind tough, lean muscle. But there was still a softness to her. Daryl felt it as they made love, both fully naked together for the first time in what felt like forever.<p>

There was no furtiveness to their actions. They didn't rush for fear of someone walking in on them. They didn't even let themselves think of the possibility of an untimely interruption.

Lia's eyes fluttered as Daryl slowly entered her. She rocked her hips in encouragement, but he just smirked and continued moving slowly, so slowly, even though his body screamed to go faster. He wasn't about to waste this moment by rushing it.

Lia placed a gentle kiss on the mole beside his mouth. "I missed you," she whispered.

Daryl almost responded with a smart-ass remark - "I've been here th' whole time. Didn't ya notice?" - but instead he rested his forehead against hers and said, "I missed ya, too."

She clung to him with arms and legs, her hips moving in sync to his unhurried thrusts. Her breath mingled with his as their lips met in kiss after kiss. "Daryl..." She breathed his name like a prayer. The sound made him moan and quicken his thrusts. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and felt her pulse against his skin, tasted her sweat as he ran his tongue along her throat. Her fingernails dug into his back, not quite hard enough to draw blood.

When their climax neared, Daryl raised his head so he could look into her eyes. They were half-lidded, the pupils wide, and they stared unwaveringly into his.

They both cried out and arched their backs within seconds of each other. When it was over Daryl rolled them onto their sides and they lay in a tangle of limbs, their bodies still joined. Lia stroked the thin beard of his cheek, a contented smile on her tired face. "I love you."

Daryl opened his mouth, and it was then that they heard the door open. "Oh, shit!" Daryl grabbed the closest blanket and flung it over them just as several men entered the meeting hall. This group consisted of Dave Wilson, Rick, and Hank and a couple of his militia men, all of them wearing grim expressions.

"Th' hell is this?" Daryl snapped while Lia rummaged for their discarded clothes.

The fact that nobody remarked on their condition said a lot about the seriousness of the situation. Rick was the one who answered. He tried to keep his tone level. "Something's happened to that woman, Shelby Knowles."

Lia, having managed to slip on her shirt while under the blanket, sat up with a frown. "What happened?"

Dave responded before Rick could, "Somebody infected her with th' walker disease."

The couple froze. "Wh-what?" Lia stammered.

Dave told them how he'd gone to check on Shelby and found lying feverish on the floor. "Doc says it's definitely th' walker disease. She wasn't bitten, and it wasn't an accident. Somebody pricked her with a dirty needle."

Daryl's face darkened in a scowl. "And you think it's one o' us," he got to his feet, shirtless and with his jeans still unfastened, "Y' think it was _me_."

"No," Dave turned his head to look at Lia.

Lia stood, fully clothed but still barefoot, her expression shocked. "You think I..."

"I think it's possible. Ya threatened her, and y' had motive-"

"You're damn right I had motive," Lia's tone sharpened in anger, "She tortured Daryl. She pointed a gun at my family. But if I was gonna kill her I would've done it when I had an arrow aimed at her."

"Maybe you didn't do it," Hank interjected, "But one of y'all did."

"None of us would do somethin' like this," Rick protested, "We ain't sadists."

"Maybe it was one of _your_ people," Lia suggested.

Hank shook his head. "We ain't sadists, either."

Daryl snorted, "Tell that to th' bitch 'n' her pals who waterboarded me."

Rick quickly stepped in before things got more volatile. "Alright, everybody try t' stay calm." He turned to Hank. "You have my word we'll cooperate with your investigation. Long is it ain't gonna turn into a witch hunt."

Hank pursed his lips. The truth was, none of his militia had any experience with criminal investigation. He was out of his depth. "You were a cop before, right?"

"Sheriff's deputy," Rick nodded.

"Can ya put aside yer personal feelings 'n' help us with this?" The two militia men threw him incredulous stares, which he ignored.

"I can," Rick assured him, "I won't stand in your way as long as it's justice your after, not revenge."

Hank looked at Dave in silent inquiry. After a moment in which Dave regarded the former deputy, he nodded. Being a man of his word himself, he could tell Rick was trustworthy. And they needed someone experienced in these matters to help them find whoever murdered Shelby.

"Okay," Rick said in his let's-get-down-to-business tone, "How long has Shelby been sick?"

"She went to her cabin right after y'all got let in," Dave answered, "She didn't leave since, so we're guessin' it happened then."

Rick grimaced. _Everyone _had been there. That meant a lot of interviews for possible witnesses and/or suspects. Not one to put off unpleasant tasks, he immediately turned to the couple and said, "Would y' both mind answerin' some questions?"

Daryl was obviously about to say no, but Lia placed a hand on his shoulder and he stayed quiet. "We might as well get it over with," she said, as much to him as to the others.

* * *

><p>Hess hadn't looked up when Rick led the hard-faced group of men into the meeting house. He just kept playing away on his guitar, seemingly without concern, while inside his stomach clenched in panic. He knew what this must be about, which meant the little stunt he'd pulled with the safety pin had worked. He really wasn't sure it would. It wasn't exactly something he planned on doing.<p>

Originally, he used the safety pin to hold the pocket where he kept his harmonica closed so it wouldn't slip out. In the aftermath of the battle with that herd of walkers, there were corpses and pieces of corpses everywhere. A lump of what might've been brain tissue had landed right by Hess's foot, and for some bizarre reason he just felt the impulse to pick it up. He didn't know why, didn't think about it. He just tore off a piece of a dead walker's shirt and used it to scoop up the gory chunk. He didn't have any idea what he was going to do with it until the confrontation with that Shelby woman. He was as shocked as everyone else when she pulled that gun on Daryl while he carried that little girl, and he sympathized with Lia's rage when she threatened to shoot that woman with her bow. But even if she could've released the arrow without risking her family, Hess knew she would never go through with it. Lia was too good a person to do something like that. And he knew nobody else was going to do anything to see Shelby punished for the things she'd already done. Not the militia, because they were hers. Not the town's Elders, because they were too weak-willed. Not Rick or Shane or any of their people, because they couldn't risk all the kids' safety. Shelby was going to get away with it all, the torture, the coup, the threats. It didn't seem right.

Despite all these thoughts, what he did wasn't premeditated. Truly. He didn't plan it, but the next thing he knew he was unfastening the safety pin, brought it to the pocket where that piece of walker flesh was hidden, and slowly pushed it through the spongy lump so when he withdrew it the needle was coated with a greasy substance. Part of him was horrified for even contemplating what he was about to do. He could have stopped himself. He almost did. But when he passed behind Shelby, standing there seething over her defeat, the impulse was just too strong. And it was such a _little_ thing. One quick jab, and it was over.

_There's no way they can figure it out_, he told himself. The evidence was burned, and he had no motive that anyone knew of.

But what if they ended up putting the blame on Daryl? Lia would be devastated. Or worse, what if they blamed Lia herself?

_They won't._

But they might. If they're desperate enough, if they're driven enough, they might.

Hess shook his head. Nobody was going down for this. Not him, and not Lia or her boyfriend. That woman had it coming. Even those self-righteous Elders had to believe that.

But even so, it might be wise to leave as soon as possible. Hess was a natural drifter, anyway. And he'd been stuck in this place for way, way too long.


	25. The Tare

**A/N:** There's a bible passage in this chapter that I actually found in a novel, _The Reapers Are the Angels_ by Alden Bell. It's technically a zombie story, though really so much more than that, and I highly recommend it to anyone, even those who don't typically like anything with zombies in it.

**Disclaimer: Woe is me! I do not own _The Walking Dead_.**

Keeping a secret in a community so small and close-knit was all but impossible. By day's end, everyone knew Shelby Knowles was sick. The morning after that, they knew what she was sick with, and that it wasn't an accident. Tension between the townspeople and the refugees grew. What mainly kept hostilities down was the fact that Rick Grimes and Dave Wilson, two well-respected men in their respective groups, were involved in the investigation.

Rick conducted the majority of the interviews. It was awkward, since he was interrogating people he'd long come to think of as family, but he was able to push aside his personal feelings and behave professionally. Hank, who sat in on these sessions and added a few questions of his own, had to admit he was impressed with the former sheriff's deputy. Rick was able to remain impartial, asking questions of his people that were often uncomfortable in the attempt to uncover the truth. So far, though, nobody cracked under the pressure. A few got upset or hurt that Rick would even indirectly accuse them - Andrea and T-Dog being good examples - but none showed signs of actual guilt.

Questioning the locals was even tougher. There was no friendship between them and Grimes to keep them in line. It was Dave or Hank's presence that did that. Together the three men worked their way through every adult who was present when Shelby was allegedly infected. It was a slow process that was sure to take days.

Meanwhile, Shelby's condition deteriorated with rapid predictability. Periods of lucidity became less and less, lasting only moments before delirium set in again. Sometimes she lay in bed glassy-eyed and unresponsive. Other times she raved incoherently and fought against attackers only she could see. Once or twice she had to be restrained to keep from hurting herself or others. Her fever mounted, causing shivers so violent they were like seizures. She wept from the pain. Doc Lawton and his granddaughter Dannika looked after her in shifts, though there was very little they could do for her except try to ease the worst of her suffering. They tried to bring down her fever with cold baths and specially brewed teas. They managed to attach an IV during one of her calmer moments and gave her bag after bag of saline to keep her hydrated. None of these things made any difference, of course. At best, they only put off the inevitable for a little while longer. Dannika wondered at times if all they were really doing was prolonging Shelby's suffering, but in her rare lucid moments she didn't say anything. If she'd asked, they would have helped her end it that much sooner. They made sure she knew this. But again, she said nothing.

Back when the world still belonged to the living, Dannika used to love zombie movies, something she looked back on now with a sense of wry irony. Looking at Shelby stubbornly clinging to life, she remembered something a character once said in one of these movies, the remake of _Dawn of the Dead._ In it, a dying Matt Frewer rasped out, "You want...every...single second." This seemed to hold true in Shelby's case. She fought for every wheezing breath, every sweaty, agonizing moment. And she would keep fighting until the disease finally won.

When he wasn't helping with the investigation, Dave spent his time sitting beside Shelby's bed. Sometimes, when she wasn't thrashing around, he held her hand. Sometimes, when Shelby was in her right mind, she let him. Neither of them said much to each other. There didn't seem to be anything left to say. That is, until near the end.

Shelby managed to hold on for almost three days after the fever first took hold. Most wound up succumbing a little more than a day after infection. Fighting so hard took its toll. She was little more than bones at that point, and even the smallest movement caused her agony. Her last rational moment was the night before and only lasted a few minutes. Doc knew it was almost over and sent for Dave, knowing he would want to be there for her.

If she was at all aware of her ex's presence, it didn't show. Her unfocused eyes stared up at the ceiling. Though still hot to the touch, she no longer sweated. Dave held her limp hand and watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest. The cabin was eerily quiet, like a bubble of silence surrounded it so even the sounds of the outside world couldn't reach them.

Shelby's eyes slowly turned in their sockets until she gazed at the man beside her. "Dave."

Her voice was so weak he had to lean in close to hear her. "What, Shel?"

If he expected something poignant, perhaps a spoken regret over pushing him away, he was disappointed.

"This is what happens," she rasped fitfully, "This is what happens...when y' let people in. They're gonna finish us all."

"Shel," Dave sighed and closed his eyes in weariness, "Please stop. These ain't the people who hurt ya before. They ain't the ones who tied you up 'n' used ya like an animal. You killed those people, baby. They can't hurt ya anymore."

Shelby's expression remained unchanged, despite the memories his words stirred up. "Always...too soft..."

His mouth quirked in a wan smile. "Thought that's what y' liked 'bout me."

"Thought so, too," she admitted, "At first."

Dave rested his hand on her feverish brow. "When we find out who did this to ya, I ain't gonna be soft with 'em," he promised.

Shelby managed a faint nod, satisfied.

Two hours later, she slipped into unconsciousness and never woke again. Dave got Doc Lawton, who'd been waiting just outside the door to give them privacy. The doctor checked Shelby for a pulse, and finding none, took out a thin case from his black bag from which he removed an ice pick. This incongruous tool had been used more than once on victims of walker bites. Doc called it the "mercy needle." With Dave's help, he turned Shelby's body over to expose the back of her head. A careful prod of his fingertips found the spot at the base of the skull where the bone was thinnest. There he placed the tip of the pick. With one firm push, the mercy needle punched through into the brainstem, ensuring that Shelby would remain dead.

Doc removed the pick and quickly swabbed it down with alcohol. He would sterilize it more thoroughly later, figuring one could never be too cautious when it came to his disease. He looked at Dave, who remained standing over Shelby's motionless body. She once again lay flat on her back, her eyes closed, face almost peaceful.

"You okay, son?"

Dave looked at him and the old man saw sadness in his eyes. Sadness, but not heartbreak. She'd already broken his heart long ago. "We'll burn her inside th' cabin."

Doc blinked in surprise. "Y' sure about that? Ain't that kind of risky?"

"Place is isolated enough th' fire won't spread. And nobody's gonna want t' live here now." Dave was right about that. No matter how thoroughly it was cleaned, everyone would consider the cabin tainted and avoid it. Best to burn it all and start afresh. A viking funeral on land.

* * *

><p>Shelby might have been surprised at how many showed up for her funeral (even a few of the refugees), though some were present just make sure the fire stayed contained. She might have had something to say about burning down her cabin, not because of sentiment, but because all that smoke was bound to get somebody's attention should there be anyone within sight of it.<p>

As the house with Shelby's shroud-wrapped body inside it burned, Dave read a passage from the Book of Matthew, the only one Shelby actually liked because she thought it fit so well with how the world turned out:

"_The field is the world; the good seed are the children of the kingdom;_

_but the tares are the children of the wicked one;_

_The enemy that sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the world;_

_and the reapers are the angels._

_As therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire;_

_so shall it be in the end of this world."_

Dry-eyed, Dave closed his small bible and tucked it into his pocket, then walked away from the fire and the people gathered to offer their last respects. No one tried to talk to him. They all sensed he wasn't in the mood for condolences. He wandered through the village without any destination in mind. The place was eerily quiet. With so many at the funeral, the town almost felt abandoned. It was several minutes before Dave saw anyone else, and who he saw he did not expect.

A figure carrying a loaded pack and a long, distinctive case slung over his shoulder was headed for the smaller gate leading out to the river, obviously unaware of Dave's presence. Frowning, Dave kept pace, but maintained a distance from the other. He watched as the figure kept out of sight of the guards stationed on the wall, whose attention was mainly focused outward, not inside the wall. Just as the figure was about to slip through the gate, Dave caught up.

"Takin' a stroll?"

Hess tensed, then slowly turned to face him, his relaxed expression at odds with the rest of his body language. "Didn't think you'd object to one of us _leaving_. It's us staying that you guys have an issue with."

David casually rested his hands on his hips, his right hand within easy reach of his sidearm, which he'd worn despite the objectionable glances this provoked. "Mind tellin' me why y' picked now to leave?"

Hess shrugged, "Didn't wanna make a big deal out of it."

"Or ya didn't want anyone t' know 'til you had a head start."

Hess gave him an amused look. "A head start? What, were you gonna send a posse after me?"

"For all I know, yer th' one who killed Shel," Dave stated coldly.

"Why the hell would I do that?" Hess blinked, "We never even said two words to each other."

"But she did threaten yer friends."

"C'mon, man. Rick already questioned me. He was satisfied." Hess started for the gate again.

Dave's voice froze him, "Take another step 'n' yer gettin' a bullet in your leg."

Hess slowly turned and took in the sight of the gun pointed at him. "Christ, you're serious."

"I am," Dave replied calmly.

Hess seemed to consider his options, then without warning he put on a burst of speed and darted through the gate.

"Damn it!" Dave snarled, chasing after him. But no sooner was he through the gate than a crowbar Hess had been carrying at his belt smacked into his face, breaking Dave's nose and leaving him sprawled in an ungainly heap on the ground. He blinked through tear and blood filled eyes as Hess kicked his gun away. Hess stood over him with the crowbar at the ready. His hands were shaking.

"Goddamn it. I really didn't want this," he said in frustration. He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "Why the fuck did you leave the funeral, anyway? Huh? This shit could've all been avoided!"

Dave glared up at him. "Y' killed her, didn't you."

Hess scowled in disgust. "You dumb shit. I'm not goin' down for doing something everybody else was thinking about. Don't pretend that bitch didn't have it coming."

"You're gonna burn in hell," Dave rasped.

"Yeah. And I plan on putting it off long as possible." He raised the crowbar. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about this," he said with genuine regret, "I kinda liked you." He brought the crowbar down with all his strength before Dave had a chance to respond.

A guard heard the struggle and came down from the wall to investigate. By the time she arrived, Hess was already gone. Finding Dave with his hair soaked in blood and his face almost unrecognizable, the horrified guard snatched up her radio and practically screamed for help. Soon there were dozens of people milling around the scene, and the longer the confusion went on, the farther away Hess got.

Lia sat in shock on one of the meeting hall's benches, Daryl beside her. She stared wide-eyed at the stoic man across from her. "Hess?"

Rick nodded. "He's th' only one not accounted for."

"I...I can't believe it. Why would he...? I-Is Dave alright?"

"He's alive," Rick answered grimly, "But that head wound's serious. Doc ain't even sure he's gonna wake from it."

Lia lowered her gaze and angrily wiped the tears from her eyes. She didn't try to kid herself. If Hess whacked Dave over the head and ran off, odds were he was the one responsible for Shelby's death. Lia berated herself for not knowing, somehow. How could she have been so wrong about him? Thought of him as a friend?

"Hank 'n' his men are formin' up a search party," Rick said.

"Y' mean a posse," Daryl stated bluntly, "Any of 'em got experience trackin'?"

"Hank's one of their best scouts," Rick replied.

"Difference between scoutin' and trackin'." He looked at Lia. A silent exchange passed between them before she gave the barest nod. Satisfied, Daryl stood and headed for their possessions to retrieve his crossbow. "I'm comin' with ya."

The corner of Rick's mouth quirked just a little. "Kinda figured you might." He stood and went to wait by the door.

Lia walked over to Daryl, watching silently as he got ready. "What d'you think they'll do to him?"

_I don't give a fuck,_ Daryl almost said, but then he saw the look on her face and felt something akin to sympathy. Not for Hess - that asshole deserved whatever was coming to him, as far as Daryl was concerned - but for Lia, her misplaced sense of guilt, and the fact that she still cared about Hess in spite of herself. Still, Daryl wasn't the kind of guy to sugar-coat things. He straightened to meet her gaze on the same level and told her, "Y' see how things are now. Only justice that might be left's th' frontier kind."

Lia bit her lip and nodded. She expected as much. "So, they'll execute him."

"Hang him, I'm bettin'," Daryl agreed.

She sniffed, wiped her nose on her sleeve. "You must think I'm an idiot for still caring, after everything he did."

Daryl smirked and put an arm around her, drawing her close. "Carin' 's what ya do."

Lia forced her expression into something more composed and met his eyes with hers. "I don't want him to suffer."

Daryl stared back at her for a beat, until he was certain he understood. He nodded. Lia kissed him on the lips, brief but hard, then stepped back and let Daryl pass her. He and Rick left the meeting house to join the rest of the search party. Lia stood in the doorway and watched them leave.


	26. Guilty

**Disclaimer: Nothing pertaining to _The Walking Dead _belongs to me.**

Some of the men in the search party wanted to bring a couple of dogs, thinking the animals might sniff Hess out for them. Daryl and Rick shot that idea down right away. None of the village's dogs had the right training for tracking down a man, and if they were excitable their barks might warn Hess they were coming or even get the local geeks' attention. Better to stick with Daryl, who had plenty of experience searching out all types of quarry.

Hess had no experience at concealing his trail. To Daryl it was as obvious as a neon-lit path. Still, the guy did have a head start on them. The search party would have to move fast to catch up to him before nightfall. Daryl found himself growing impatient with his companions. They were too clumsy, made way too much noise, and they were slowing him down. There was also the issue of what the hell he was supposed to do once they actually caught Hess. He knew what Lia wanted, but could Daryl get away with it? Not with these men tagging along, especially Rick Grimes, who always had that stick up his ass about outmoded concepts like "justice" and "moral obligation".

Daryl paused to let the others catch up. The look on his face warned them he was about to say something they weren't going to like.

"What happened?" Hank asked, "Ya lose the trail?"

Daryl shook his head. "We're goin' too damn slow. 'Stead of catchin' up, we're laggin' further behind him."

"What d'you suggest?" Rick asked, "We're pushin' ourselves as it is."

This was true. Several posse members could be heard panting from the exertion.

"Lemme go ahead," Daryl suggested, "I'll mark th' trail so y'all can follow."

"And what happens if y' catch up to him?" Hank challenged, "He already took Dave down without any trouble."

Daryl retorted, "Dave got caught unawares. I won't." He turned his intense gaze on Rick. "I c'n handle him 'til ya reach us."

Rick pursed his lips, then turned to Hank. "What he's sayin' makes sense. If we keep goin' like this, we might lose him."

Hank narrowed his eyes at Daryl. "Trouble is, I ain't so sure we can trust ya. You 'n' Hess were travel buddies, after all."

Daryl growled, "He ain't no friend o' mine."

"No, but he is yer woman's friend."

"Not anymore," Daryl countered, "She don't hold with murder."

The two men stared each other down a moment longer, then Hank's head bobbed in a begrudging nod. "Fine. I guess you ain't gonna try anything stupid with her still back in town."

Daryl scowled at the implied threat, but didn't say anything in response. He turned his back on the militia leader and trotted off into the woods without a backwards glance. It seemed only seconds before he disappeared from the search party's sight.

* * *

><p>Lia went to Doc Lawton's house and asked to see Dave. She expected to be turned away, but to her surprise the old physician ushered her in without hesitation. "'Fraid he still hasn't woken," Doc told her as he led her into a small room with a single bed. Daylight streamed in through a broad window, making it easy to see every detail of Dave's bandaged head. His eyes were closed, his hands resting limp atop the quilt that covered him, a thin tube running from one of them to an iv stand beside the bed. The only movement was the steady rise and fall of his chest.<p>

"Is he in a coma?" Lia asked. Even though it wasn't necessary, she kept her voice low. Something about this scene demanded quiet.

Doc nodded, "He ain't respondin' to stimuli, aside from simple reflex."

"Could he wake up soon?"

The old man shrugged apologetically. "Can't say anything fer sure. Even back when there were hospitals with all th' fancy equipment on hand, comas were still touch 'n' go. Could take days, weeks, or months. He could wake up with everythin' intact, or with severe brain damage. Or he might not wake up at all." He looked at the bedridden man sadly. "I've done all I could for him. It's in God's hands, now."

Lia crossed her arms and stared down at the patchwork rug under her feet. "I'm so sorry this happened."

Doc placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It wasn't yer fault, darlin'."

"Hess was...I _thought_ he was my friend." She shook her head. "I just don't understand how I couldn't see it. That he'd do something so horrible. Killing Shelby like that, and almost killing Dave..."

Doc gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I'm sure in his mind he did what he had t' do."

Lia's eyes flashed. "That doesn't excuse what he did."

"No, it don't," Doc agreed, "Whatever his reasons, Hess has t' face th' consequences o' his actions. 'Cause they were his choices, his responsibility. Th' guilt lies with him, darlin'. An' _only_ him."

"I know," Lia sighed, "I know that, but..." She gazed at him with sorrowful eyes. "I keep feeling like I should've known, somehow."

The doctor patted her arm. "Tell ya what. Why doncha sit beside Dave a spell? Talk to him. Some folks think it helps, an' I figure it can't hurt."

Lia responded with a weak smile and seated herself on the chair beside Dave's bed. She stared at his slack features and waited until she heard the door shut, signaling old man's departure. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "For everything. I'm sorry Shelby died the way she did. I know you cared about her, and it was an awful way to see someone you care about go. Nobody deserves to go like that." She swallowed. "And I'm sorry that Hess attacked you, and I'm sorry that we came here and stirred up all this shit. I'm just...I'm sorry." She sniffed, wiped her eyes, then touched his arm, but didn't let her hand linger. She spent the rest of her time there in silence. It felt like she was standing vigil.

* * *

><p>Edison went out for his afternoon walk at precisely 4:00p.m. Mama was supposed to walk with him, but she said she had too much work, so Dannika came with him instead. Edison didn't like not having Mama with him. Mama always came with him on his afternoon walk. But Mama explained that work was work, and sometimes he had to be flexible. He decided that Dannika was an acceptable substitute.<p>

They walked a square route, four sides and four corners, beginning and ending at the house's front door. They did this four times. He wore his favorite green jacket, even though it was warm outside, because he always wore his jacket when he left the house. People knew to keep their distance from him and not try to talk to him, since they always said things that only confused him, or raised their voices too loud, or smiled and smiled all wide-mouthed until he thought their heads might split open. People were chaotic. They made no sense to him.

"Have you finished your project?" Dannika asked quietly on their last trip around the square.

Edison fidgeted. This was not the right time to ask that question. Mama always asked after they went back into the house and he hung up his jacket. He reminded himself that Dannika didn't know this. He must be flexible. "Yes," he said curtly.

Sensing his unease, the young woman didn't say anything else until they finished their walk. She followed him into his workshop, where he picked up a newly completed object from the table. Unlike most of his previous work, this was not a scale model, but a full-size working prototype. To Dannika's eye, it didn't look all that different from Daryl's crossbow, but she knew better. "Will you show me how it works, Thomas?"

The boy nodded. He didn't brace it nose-down on the ground to pull back the bowstring. The crossbow didn't even have the built-in metal stand on the nose like Daryl's had for that purpose. Instead, he grasped a handle on the underside of the stock, just in front of the trigger guard, and pulled downward, revealing it to be a lever. At the same time, the catch on top slid forward along the stock until it slipped under the bowstring and hooked it. Edison then pushed the lever back to its original position, the catch slipped back into place, pulling the bowstring with it. There was a click as everything was secured in place. Edison pulled the trigger and the bowstring released with a twang. He repeated this process three more times in quick succession. Dannika could tell it would make reloading much faster, shaving off several dangerous seconds of delay, and it also seemed to take less effort than pulling back the bowstring by hand.

"I tried to devise an automatic loading system for the ammunition," Edison stated in his dull monotone, "but I concluded it would have impeded the crossbow's accuracy and range."

"That's okay, Thomas," Dannika reassured him in all sincerity, "You did good."

With this they now had a viable replacement for their firearms once the ammo and gunpowder inevitably ran out.

Edison picked up a neatly rolled sheet of paper and handed it to her. "These are the schematics."

"Thanks." Dannika would pass it along to the Elders. Let them decide whether the plans should go to the militia first or not.

Satisfied that his task was done, even though Dannika only substituted for the roll his mother normally played, Edison sat down at his worktable and started to assemble a model aircraft carrier from a kit that was salvaged from an abandoned hobby store.

* * *

><p>Daryl tore another strip from the red bandanna he carried in his back pocket and tied it around the trunk of a sapling where it was sure to be noticed by the posse once they arrived. He'd been doing this every mile or so, or when the trail veered off, in which case he'd also carve an arrow into a tree as well. Despite these small delays, Daryl could tell he was catching up. The signs were fresher. It wouldn't be long before he reached Hess. What happened then, well...<p>

A loud rustle startled Daryl from his grim musing, and he silently cursed himself for getting distracted. He held his crossbow at the ready and went to check out the source of the disturbance. It turned out to be a walker so thin and weak with decay he couldn't even tell what gender it might have been when it was alive. The stupid thing had gotten itself tangled up in some bushes and it didn't have the strength or the basic coordination to free itself. Both its eyes were long gone, but it still turned its empty sockets towards Daryl and opened its lipless mouth in a wheezing snarl. Daryl put an arrow through the geek's left eye socket and the creature's body went limp, half-supported by the bushes that entangled it. Daryl retrieved the arrow, wiped it off on some leaves, and reloaded it on the crossbow.

He could tell from the angle of the sunlight coming through the gaps in the branches that the afternoon was waning. Daryl really didn't relish the idea of having to spend the night out here, but it was starting to look like it might be the case. Camping wasn't an issue for him. Daryl had been camping on his own since he was barely in his teens, and even with all the geeks wandering around he knew it wouldn't be anything he couldn't handle. The problem was who he would have to keep company with. Grimes he was okay with, but Hank and his militia fucks could take a run off a cliff as far as Daryl was concerned. To him they'd always belong to that bitch Shelby Knowles, and no change in leadership was going to alter that fact.

Another disturbance reached his ears, the unmistakable sound of clumsy footsteps tromping through the woods. They were too regular to be a walker's staggering gait. Daryl approached with the same stealth he used when hunting game. Moments later he peered around a broad trunk in time to see Hess shrug off his heavy pack and sit down on a moss-covered log. He groaned and rolled his shoulders, then took a drink from his canteen, oblivious to the fact that his every action was being watched. Daryl waited a few seconds longer to be sure Hess had totally let his guard down, then stepped out of hiding with his bow aimed at the center of Hess's back. "Get up," he said, "Turn 'round real slow, 'n' keep yer hands where I can see 'em."

Hess stiffened at the unexpected voice behind him, then relaxed a little and did as he was told. He gave a wry chuckle once he turned to face Daryl. "Didn't expect you to get involved with the lynch mob. Hell, I thought you'd be grateful for what I did."

"Thankful?" Daryl scoffed, "You mighta just screwed up our chances o' findin' a place t' settle."

"Right, like you'd ever live in that shithole after what they did to you."

Daryl's eyes narrowed. "I get why ya offed that bitch, but why'd you hafta crack Dave Wilson's skull after he helped us escape?"

Hess's features morphed into something akin to regret. "I didn't wanna hurt him. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time. He saw me sneakin' off and while he was confronting me he started putting things together."

"Y' mean how you killed that woman."

"You would've done the same." Hess's tone implied, _if you had the balls._ "You shouldn't be hunting me down for those assholes, man, you should be thanking me."

"If it weren't me it woulda been somebody else," Daryl stated, "Them townspeople 're hellbent on catchin' ya fer what you did. And fer some damn reason, Lia got me t' promise ya wouldn't suffer."

"So, what, you're gonna shoot me?" Hess spread his hands. "In cold blood?"

"They waterboarded me just 'cuz we showed up. What d'ya think they'll do t' you after what y' did?"

"So it's either let you shoot me or get taken back to town and maybe get tortured before I'm executed, is that it?"

"I ain't seein' any other options."

"Sure there is," Hess argued, "You could let me go."

Daryl shook his head. "Can't do that."

"Yeah, you can! Tell them you lost the trail or something. I'll just walk away. You'll never see me again."

Daryl glared. "If I tell 'em that, they'll know it's a lie. I can't let y' go, 'n' I can't break my promise t' Lia."

Hess decided to change tack. He gave Daryl a sympathetic look and said in a quiet tone, "We both know she'll never forgive you for this. She'll act like it, and yeah, she made you promise, but it's gonna hang over both your heads until one day, one fight too many, she'll spit out the word _murderer_ at you and it'll all be over." He held both hands out like an offering. "But if you let me go, even though it might mean getting kicked outta that little walled-in paradise, at least you'll still be able to look Lia in the eye."

Daryl gritted his teeth. Hess hadn't said anything he didn't think of himself, and aside from how this could complicate his relationship with Lia, there was also the fact that he'd never killed a living human before. There were times when he sure as hell _wanted_ to, but those were always in moments of extreme rage. Once he cooled down, it was different. But now, faced with this situation in a relatively cool state of mind, Daryl wasn't sure he could go through with it.

_You promised Lia._ Yes, he promised her. He'd broken promises throughout his life to other people, but never to her. It was a vow he made to himself as soon as he understood that he loved her, he would always keep his word to her.

But there was one more thing he needed to know. "Why'd ya help me when we were in th' river?"

Hess blinked in surprise at this sudden question, then smiled, thinking it might work in his favor. "'Cause Lia loves you, and I like Lia," he shrugged, "And I didn't really have anything against you."

"That's why y' killed Shelby," Daryl surmised, "For Lia."

Hess nodded.

Daryl looked saddened by this. "If Lia knew that, it'd tear her up inside."

"She doesn't need to know," Hess reasoned.

Daryl agreed, "No, she don't."

* * *

><p>The rest of the search party finally arrived as early evening set in. They found Daryl sitting on a log beside Hess's pack and guitar case. Sprawled on the ground a few feet away was Hess's body, a crowbar clasped loosely in his right hand.<p>

"What happened?" Hank barked.

Daryl shrugged, not bothering to look at him. "He came at me swingin' that crowbar. I had t' shoot."

Rick stared down at the body. An arrow jutted from the space between the eyes where the bone was thin. Hess's open eyes and slightly parted lips gave him a startled expression.

"What're we s'posed to do, now?" one of the militia men asked, "Do we carry him back, or-"

"Hell with that!" someone else exclaimed, "Let's just leave th' bastard here for the walkers t' snack on."

"We'll bury him," Rick said decisively. This earned him several astonished looks.

Hank crossed his arms and glared at the former sheriff's deputy. "Any reason why we oughta trouble ourselves?"

Rick answered in a level tone, "'Cause it's the decent thing t' do."

Hank snorted, but after a few moments of consideration he sighed and said, "Shoulda brought a shovel. Diggin' with our knives is gonna be a bitch."

There was much grumbling from the others, but they did as Hank ordered and all pitched in. All except Daryl, who rose from the log, picked up the guitar case, and started to walk away.

"Where the hell 're you goin?" Hank snapped.

Again, Daryl replied without looking at him, "I did my part." He put a few yards of distance between him and them and leaned against a tree, facing outward, ostensibly to keep an eye out for walkers. In reality his gaze turned inward, to his actions a couple of hours ago...

_"She doesn't need to know."_

_"No, she don't."_

_He fired off his crossbow without warning, the arrow penetrating Hess's skull so fast he didn't have time to process what just happened. Daryl slowly lowered the crossbow and stared at the body. He really didn't expect it to be this easy. Not any different than killing a walker, really..._

_He suddenly doubled over and vomited. When it was over he stood for a while with one hand on his knee, the other still clutching his bow, and shuddered at the sour taste of bile in his throat. He spat, wiped his mouth, then buried the evidence of his weakness. Once that was done he walked over to the body and unhooked the crowbar from Hess's belt. He placed it in Hess's right hand and closed the slack fingers around it. Daryl would need an excuse for shooting Hess. He doubted any of the others, especially Grimes, would accept his true reasons. His task done, Daryl went to sit on the log Hess had vacated earlier and waited for the others to arrive._

There was a muted thud as Hess's corpse was unceremoniously dumped into the shallow grave.

"Should we say some words?" Rick asked.

Hank impatiently replied, "Fuck him. Let's just get this over with 'n' head home."

"Amen to that," someone muttered.

A few minutes later they headed back the way they came. Daryl hefted his crossbow, shouldered the guitar case, and followed.


	27. Reproach

**Disclaimer: _The Walking Dead _belongs to people far more talented and financially secure than I.**

In the end, the search party had to make camp for the night. Daryl barely said two words to anyone, and they were content to let him be. When dawn came they set off right away. It still took the better part of the morning to reach the town. There was a crowd of people waiting inside the gate. Questions were asked. Did they find Hess? Did he get away? Rick and Hank did their best to answer while still heading for the Elders, who needed to hear all the details first. Daryl separated from the group and headed for the meeting hall. Hank noticed and called after him, "Where d'ya think yer goin'? We gotta debrief th' Elders first."

Daryl ignored him, just kept walking. Hank glared at his retreating back. "Your boy's gonna have a big problem fittin' in if the Elders decide y'all can stay," he grumbled to Rick.

"He never was much for goin' with the crowd," Rick said, hoping his tone conveyed that it wasn't such a big deal, even as he spared the briefest glance of concern towards Daryl.

Lia and Sally were waiting outside he meeting hall's door. Sally trotted over to Daryl, a big grin on her face. "Daddy home!"

Daryl scooped the toddler up in his arms without breaking a step. "Hey, sweet pea," he muttered the endearment without feeling. He gave Sally a perfunctory hug, then passed her over to Lia and continued into the hall's shaded interior. Lia stood holding a puzzled Sally and staring at the darkened doorway, a cold lump forming in the pit of her stomach. She'd seen the guitar case and the look in Daryl's eyes. She knew, even without having to join everyone else questioning the posse, that Hess was dead. Daryl had killed him and Lia's behest, and it struck her like a physical blow what a horrible thing that was. She'd asked Daryl to end a human's life without considering what that would do to him, and he did it because _Lia_ asked him to. She knew in her bones if it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have done it. The cost was too high. But he did it for her.

What kind of person asks someone they love to do something so terrible? How would he ever look her in the eye again?

Lia was torn between walking away and following him inside. Then Sally squirmed and muttered, "Hungry," and that decided her. "Let's get you something to eat, sweetie."

She would give him some space for now. Give herself time to collect her thoughts. Then they would talk.

* * *

><p>Daryl heard her footsteps fade with distance and wanted to chase after her, but he didn't. He sat alone on the pallet they shared, knees drawn up and arms resting on them. His eyes were fixed on the guitar case he'd leaned against the wall. He really didn't know why he brought it back with him. It just felt wrong leaving it.<p>

_Murderer._ The word felt like it was lodged deep in his chest, like a fish bone in the throat. A sharp, irritating pain that wouldn't go away.

_"We both know she'll never forgive you for this."_

He couldn't bring himself to look Lia in the eye, and holding little Sally for that brief time was almost agony. All he wanted to do was put some distance between him and them. He felt like he might taint them with his guilt if he didn't. Remorse and doubt swirled in his thoughts. Lia told him she didn't want Hess to suffer, and he took that to mean she wanted Daryl to give him a quick death. But what if he was wrong? What if she meant he should help Hess get away? Or maybe she _did_ mean for Hess to die, but the full impact of what she was asking didn't sink in until now, when it was too late? What if she'd expected Daryl to argue against it, if only to help her be absolutely sure? What did she think of him for going along with it so easily? Maybe she thought he'd enjoyed it.

Daryl abruptly stood and marched out the door. The gawkers had pretty much dispersed by then. While Grimes and Hank reported to the Elders, everyone else went about their daily business. Everyone but the rest of the returned posse. As Daryl suspected, he found them all unwinding in a rowdy, laughing bunch at one of the mess tents. They were passing a couple of bottles between them, old whiskey bottles with the labels scraped off. Their original contents were long gone and they'd been refilled with some of the local moonshine (because, no matter how rough the living, there would always be that one enterprising soul in the community who knew how to make a still).

One of the men noticed Daryl approaching and called out cheerily, "Well, hell, if it ain't th' great white hunter!" He raised his bottle in salute. Most of the others bellowed out a general greeting. Apparently they were already on their way to getting nice and drunk, as corn liquor on empty stomachs was wont to do.

Daryl snagged one of the mostly full bottles and took a hefty swig. The alcohol burned his throat on the way down, but he spent many years of his adult life drinking swill that was little better than paint thinner. The others made joking remarks over his apparent eagerness, until he started to walk away with the bottle still in hand. A couple of them made to follow and get it back, but one cold stare from Daryl was enough to make them reconsider. They could always get more booze.

Daryl wandered through the village without destination or pause, taking occasional gulps from the bottle along the way. He got more than a few disapproving or curious looks, but no one tried to talk to him. His stormy expression warned them off.

_"She'll never forgive you for this,"_ Hess's voice mocked him, _"It's gonna hang over both your heads until one day, one fight too many, she'll spit out the word _murderer_ at you and it'll all be over."_

He never wanted to kill anyone. Thought he did, more than once. Even came close to doing it once or twice, but he never did. Like that time on the roof when he aimed his crossbow at T-Dog, after their failed attempt to rescue his brother. Even if Grimes hadn't pointed his gun at Daryl's head, he knew he wouldn't have gone through with it. He just couldn't stomach it. Not for himself. But he did it this time for Lia. He did it because she asked him. Because he loved her. Only now that it was too late he realized he still couldn't stomach it.

He couldn't even blame Lia. It wasn't cruelty that motivated her to ask it of him. She was just so caught up with not wanting a former friend to suffer, she didn't consider what her request would do to Daryl. He didn't condemn her for that. He should've had the guts to say no to her.

Daryl tripped over an unseen irregularity in the hard-packed ground and staggered several ungraceful steps until he managed to regain his balance. A glance at the bottle in his hand confirmed there was a lot more air than liquid inside now. The sun was also noticeably lower in the sky. He'd been at this for a while.

The smell of hot food made his mouth water even as his stomach rolled. He looked ahead and saw yet another mess tent. It was late enough in the day to be serving dinner. People sat around on benches at long tables, digging into plates and bowls, chatting and laughing together. The sense of camaraderie was tangible. It made Daryl hesitate to get any nearer. But then several familiar faces noticed him and waved him closer: T-Dog, Glenn, Shane and his little family. Still Daryl hung back, worried that they might somehow sense the awful thing he'd done, smell it on him like a skunk's musk.

Glenn got up from his bench, leaving his food at the table, and trotted over. "Hey!" he greeted, "Where've you been all day?"

Daryl shrugged.

Glenn noticed the bottle in his hand and pointed at it. "Been celebrating?"

At that innocent question, the rolling in Daryl's stomach became a violent torrent that had him doubled over while sour moonshine gushed out onto the ground. The people at the mess tent let out exclaims of shock and disgust, some standing up to crane their necks. Expressions ranged from shock to concern to revulsion. As recently as twenty-four hours ago, Daryl would have shouted, "What th' fuck 're y'all lookin' at?" But now he couldn't muster up the anger. What was the point?

T-Dog, Shane, and Marilyn hurried over, Marilyn carrying her newborn in her arms. They surrounding him, peppering him with questions over whether he was okay. Shane and T-Dog tried to help him stand, but Daryl shook them off. "Get offa me," he mumbled without energy. He sat on the ground staring at the puddle in front of him. A moment later he let go of the whiskey bottle and it toppled onto its side. The remaining liquid sloshed, but there wasn't enough left to spill out.

The others stood around in anxious silence until Marilyn finally leaned close and asked, "You okay?" When he didn't answer, she reached out to lightly touch his shoulder. "Daryl?"

He jerked away from her hand with a suddenness that startled her. She jumped and the baby started to cry from the unexpected movement. Marilyn immediately started to rock him, murmuring soothing shh-shh-shhs to him. Shane threw Daryl a hard glare, then hurried to his wife's side to help her comfort their son. "It's okay," she reassured him, "He's just startled is all."

"What the hell's the matter with you, man?" T-Dog asked, and though there was no accusation in his tone, Daryl flinched anyway.

Glenn crouched down beside him and carefully took hold of his arm. "C'mon," he said calmly, "You need to sleep it off."

Daryl resisted at first, but when T-Dog bent down to take his other arm, he gave in and let himself get dragged to his feet. As the two men half-carried him back towards the meeting house, Shane looked down at the overturned bottle and shook his head. "I dunno what's gotten into that sonuvabitch this time."

"Did you see the look on his face?" Marilyn asked, her expression sad, "He looked haunted."

Her husband shrugged. "He's done plenty of stuff in his life t' feel guilty over. Why's he gettin' all worked up over it now?"

"He killed a man, Shane," she reminded him.

"In self defense."

"Like that makes a difference?" Marilyn retorted, "You told me the first person you ever killed was a kid strung out on amphetamines who came at you with a kitchen knife. It was obvious you had to shoot him, but you said you had nightmares for weeks afterward."

Shane sighed, rubbed his forehead, then leaned down and picked up the bottle. He sniffed the mouth of the bottle and winced. "Jesus. Stuff smells like engine degreaser."

Marilyn kissed the top of her baby's fuzzy head. "Guess he really wanted to drown his sorrows."

* * *

><p>Glenn and T-Dog lowered Daryl onto the pallet as gently as possible, though there was still an audible thump when he settled. Daryl didn't react. He just curled up on his side and fell asleep. His heavy breaths were just shy of becoming snores.<p>

T-Dog shook his head. "Puttin' Hess down really did a number on him. He's gonna be feelin' that hangover in the morning."

"I don't get it," Glenn said as the two of them headed for the exit, "He's killed I dunno how many geeks and didn't bat an eye. How's killing a murderer in self defense any different?"

"You ever kill a man?" T-Dog asked.

"No." He gave his friend a suspicious sidelong look. "You?"

"Naw. But my brother did," T-Dog answered solemnly. Until that moment, he'd never mentioned his family. Glenn supposed the subject was just too painful.

"What happened?"

"He was runnin' with a bad crowd in a bad neighborhood. Same ol' shit you heard about every day in the news. My brother got into a fight with another man from a different gang 'n' things got outta hand, like they always did, and pretty soon the guns came out and a man was left bleedin' in the street. My brother said it was real easy when he did it. It was _after_ that it all got so hard."

Glenn couldn't remember ever seeing his friend so solemn. "What happened to your brother?" he asked quietly.

T-Dog shrugged. "Lost touch with him after a while. Didn't hear from him in years by the time th' walkers showed. He mighta got shot in another gang fight. Mighta died in jail. Mighta wound up a geek," he snorted, "Hell, he might still be alive, for all I know. But if he is, he ain't the same person. He wasn't ever the same after he shot that man."

The two men fell silent, thinking about what was said and what it might mean for Daryl.

By the time night fell, Daryl hadn't moved. He didn't react as people trickled in to bed down for the night and their quiet murmurs and footfalls filled the meeting house. When most of them were settled in, the lights were turned off. In the darkness, everything and everyone was nothing but shapeless shadows.

Lia navigated the maze of sleeping bodies until memory led her to the piles of sleeping bags that belonged to her and Daryl. Sally was curled up in her arms, already asleep. She gently laid the toddler down on a smaller pallet a little apart from the adults'. Sally didn't even stir. Once Lia tucked her in, she went to lay down on her side of the makeshift bed she shared with Daryl. She could tell from the shape of his silhouette that he was lying on his side with his back to her. He smelled of alcohol and sweat. She'd heard about his binge and its messy results - there were plenty of witnesses to spread the word. And plenty of rumors as to why he did it. Guilt surged in Lia at the knowledge that this was her fault. She'd asked the unforgivable of him, and he was tormented by it.

She reached out and touched his shoulder. "Daryl..."

He didn't say anything, didn't react, except to move away from her. Lia remained with her empty hand outstretched for a long moment before finally turning onto her other side, away from him, and curled up on herself. She buried her face into her pillow and tried her best not to let her sobs be heard.


	28. Forgiveness

**A/N: **Just so's you know, we're nearing the end of this story. Only one or two chapters left. Stay tuned!

**Disclaimer: I am making absolutely no profit off _The Walking Dead_. It's not mine!**

Even hungover, Daryl got up earlier than most of the others. He looked at Lia on the sleeping bag beside him, her back to him, and felt a pang in his chest that overshadowed his throbbing headache for a brief instant. Despite her efforts to hide it from him, he heard her crying last night.

He got up and stumbled as quietly as possible for the exit. As soon as he staggered outside, he recoiled from the brightening sun and kept to the shady side of the meeting hall. He leaned against the wood planks and slid down until his ass hit the ground. His knees were drawn up and forearms rested on them while his head hung down. He might've stayed like that all day if the sounds of light footsteps and liquid sloshing hadn't gotten his attention. His aching skull protested as he forced himself to look up. His squinting, bloodshot eyes made out the blurred image of Nana Shino's petite form standing over him. Her right hand gripped the handle of a metal bucket full of water. She set it down beside his right foot.

"You may want to rinse off," she advised, not unkindly, "You smell like a distillery."

Daryl didn't respond, even with a noncommittal grunt. He just lowered his head again. Nana strode off without another word. A little while later Daryl mustered the energy to reach out and drag the bucket closer. There was a dipper inside and he used it to take several drinks. The water was clean and cold, probably fresh out of the tributary. Once he took care of his thirst he poured a ladleful over his head. He sat and watched the clear drops fall from the tips of his hair.

Others were starting to wake up and come outside. Most headed straight for the nearest mess tent for breakfast. Daryl received more than a few looks as they passed by. He ignored them. They weren't the ones whose opinions he cared about. It wasn't until he saw Lia from the corner of his eye that he felt ashamed of his condition. Then he remembered why he did this to himself in the first place and felt even more like shit.

Lia stood with Sally in her arms, the toddler rubbing at her eyes groggily. She looked at Daryl in his misery and wanted to go to him, but couldn't bring herself to take that first step. She told herself she needed to take care of Sally first, but quickly shot the excuse down for the cowardice it was. The thought that he might prove her fears true and reject her made her stomach clench in a painful knot. She didn't want to confront this, but knew that putting it off would only make it worse. Back when the walkers were only myths from cheesy horror films, Lia used to get so irritated at her girlfriends who fretted about their relationships, the misunderstandings and suspicions and tense silences. She wanted to yell at them, "Just _tell him_, dammit! How's he supposed to understand if you don't tell him anything?" More than one past boyfriend told her she was too up-front for her own good. That some things were better kept to herself. She always thought that was bullshit, and she still did. She never kept anything from Daryl, never left it up to him to figure out what her problem was. The sooner faced, the sooner dealt with.

But now she found herself scared to end the silence between them. She was afraid to know what he was thinking. It was easier to sympathize with her long-dead girlfriends now. Sometimes the most terrifying possibility was knowing for sure.

"Good morning." Lia's head jerked towards the source of the cheerful greeting and her shoulders relaxed slightly as Nana Shino approached her. The old woman smiled and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked in that quiet way that made people want to open up to her.

Lia pursed her lips, glanced over at Daryl still slouched over the water pail, then let out a breath as she came to a decision. "Could you do me a favor and take Sally over to get breakfast?"

Nana smiled knowingly. "Of course." She reached for the sleepy toddler. "Come here, sweetheart. Let's go get something to eat together, hmm?"

Sally didn't protest as she was passed to the older woman. She wrapped her chubby arms around Nana's neck and gazed back over the old woman's shoulder as she was carried away. Lia smiled and waved at her, then she turned, took a breath to steady herself, and walked over to where Daryl sat alone.

Daryl's shoulders tensed as she drew near, but he kept his head down. He didn't want to see the condemnation in her eyes. He didn't want to face what was about to happen. This was so like Lia. She was never one to put things off for days or weeks. Instead of a prolonged death, she was going to break it off with him quick and clean. She would try to be kind about it - _I'm sorry. I thought I could live with what you did, but I can't._ - but no amount of kindness was going to make this any less painful than digging his heart out with his own knife.

Lia knelt down beside him. He didn't look up. She stared at his haggard profile, his damp hair plastered down, droplets clinging to the ends. She turned her eyes downward and took another steadying breath. "I need to say something," she said in the calmest voice she could manage, "I need to say it before I lose my nerve."

Daryl didn't respond. He stared down at the bucket and tried to brace himself for what was coming.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, "I'm so sorry for asking you to do what you did. I understand how wrong it was. But I didn't understand 'til it was too late. I don't want you to think that I...I blame you for anything. This is my fault. I know it."

He could hear the remorse in her voice, the sadness. He closed his eyes, but otherwise didn't move.

"I just...I don't want you to hate me," her voice wavered. She struggled to maintain control as she forced the words out, "I know I might be asking too much, wanting you to forgive me for this. But please, if you feel there's anything left that we had before, if you still care about me even a little, please..."

_This is it,_ he thought, _She's gonna tell me t' go without makin' it hard on her. Just walk away._

"...don't leave me."

Daryl's eyes flew open and he finally looked at her. And instead of the harsh judgment he expected, he saw his own fear and grief reflected in her gaze. A tear escaped and rolled down her left cheek. "Please don't leave me," she repeated.

Daryl's mouth opened. It took several tries before his voice worked. "I thought...I thought y' were gonna tell me t' go."

Lia blinked in disbelief. "Why'd you think that?"

Daryl swallowed. "'Cuz of what I did."

"I asked you to!"

"I didn't know. After I did it, I thought," he looked away, biting the inside of his lip, "maybe y' meant sumthin' else. I thought ya'd hate me fer murderin' him."

A mournful sound escaped Lia's throat as she scooted closer and threw her arms around him. "I'll never hate you," she whispered fiercely in his ear, "Never."

"You f'give me?" he asked in a small voice.

"I forgive you. Can you forgive me for making you do this to yourself?"

"Y' didn't make me," he told her, "But yeah, I forgive ya." He put his arms around her. A strange numbness had come over him. He'd been so focused on what he believed to be an inevitable scenario, only to have the exact opposite happen. He didn't know what to feel at that moment. He couldn't even feel relieved.

He tilted his head and winced as pain flared in his skull. "M' head hurts," he muttered.

Lia drew back to gently cradle his face in her hands. She placed featherlight kisses along his brow and Daryl's throat tightened at the loving gesture. "It's alright," she soothed, "I'll take care of you."

For whatever reason, those words brought a surge of emotion in him. Everything Daryl had been through over the past weeks - the torture, the escape, the fighting, the killing - all came boiling up at once, overwhelming the fragile control left to him. He buried his face against Lia's chest as the first sobs broke free. "'M sorry," he choked.

This was not how a man was supposed to act, weeping like a scared little kid. Daryl wanted to hide this humiliating weakness, but couldn't bring himself to let Lia go. He clung to her with a desperate strength that was sure to leave bruises, not that Lia cared. She hugged him back just as fiercely, her face pressed to his damp hair. "It's okay, baby," she murmured, "Let it all out."

Passersby who glimpsed the embracing couple quickly looked away. They didn't say a word about what they saw to anyone. It was none of their business.

* * *

><p>Dave Wilson regained consciousness three days later. He woke to the sounds of guitar music and opened his eyes to see Carol, of all people, sitting in a chair beside his bed playing the guitar that once belonged to Hess. She was singing along, her voice a tad rough, but there was no doubt she loved the words.<p>

"_I am a poor wayfaring stranger_

_Traveling through this world of woe_

_Yet there's no sickness, toil or danger_

_In that bright world to which I go_

_I'm going home to see my father_

_I'm going home, no more to roam_

_I am just going home to Jordan_

_I am just going over home..."_

"My gramma used t' sing that," Dave croaked.

The guitar twanged as Carol's head jerked up in surprise. "You're awake! Oh, thank God!" she jumped up from her seat and hurried to her side, a bright smile on her face, "People have been volunteering to sit by you all hours, just in case, but I honestly didn't think you'd wake while I was here."

Dave frowned. His memory was foggy. He remembered Shelby dying, her funeral... "What happened?"

Carol's smile faltered. "Um, I'll go get the doctor. He'll explain everything to you."

A beaming Doc Lawton entered the room moments later and proceeded to give Dave a thorough examination. While he looked him over, he filled Dave in on what happened. Hess's attack, the posse made up of locals and Rick and Daryl, then Daryl killing Hess in self defense. Dave listened to it all with a sort of bewildered acceptance. Part of him was relieved to hear that Shelby's killer didn't get away with it, and yet the whole situation felt unreal. Maybe if he remembered Hess attacking him, it would be different, but that memory seemed to have been knocked out of him.

"Me 'n' the rest of th' Elders finally decided t' let the refugees stay," Doc finished, "They already moved outta the meetin' hall an' set up their tents. Guess they're all tired o' livin' cozied up together. Pretty soon they're gonna start buildin' their cabins 'long with everybody else."

"They're all stayin'?" Dave asked. Somehow, he couldn't imagine Daryl or Lia wanting to stick around, given their experiences.

Doc shrugged. "Their group's mostly kids, after all. They wanna settle down, find some stability. I think our town can hold 'em. They've already been pitchin' in with the day-to-day work, makin' friends with their new neighbors. I think things'll work out alright."

Dave certainly hoped so, for everyone's sake.

There was no shortage of visitors once word got out that he woke from his coma. Doc made sure they came in singles or pairs, and stayed no more than a few minutes so they didn't wear the patient out. Lia was among the last.

Dave smiled at her. "I hear yer man's a hero. Tracked down Hess 'n' took him down on his own."

Lia nodded, her smile wan. "He did what he had to."

"How's he takin' it?"

She blinked. It was the first time anyone really asked her that. It didn't seem to occur to anyone that Daryl's bouts of sullenness and short fuse had anything to do with killing Hess. They all assumed it because of the torture, and it certainly was a factor. Hardly a night went by that his nightmares didn't wake Lia with his thrashing and cries. She'd taken more than a few bruises while trying to wake him, but she never told Daryl about that. He didn't need the added guilt. He did insist, however, that Sally sleep in Nana Shino's tent, a precaution Lia agreed with.

"He's getting through it," Lia replied, her voice solemn, "We both are."

Dave nodded in sympathy. "I know it's gotta be a heavy burden for him, takin' a life, even in self defense. Tell him my prayers are with him."

Lia couldn't suppress a smirk. "Thanks, though I kinda doubt he'll give them much value."

"Well," Dave smiled, "I'll be prayin' for him anyway. And fer you."

"Thank you," she said, and her gratitude was genuine.

* * *

><p>Daryl was seated on an overturned bucket in front of their tent, making new arrows for his crossbow. The quick-load crossbow designed by Edison was already being duplicated and given out to those willing to learn how to shoot, but Daryl stuck to his old bow. He knew all its quirks and could fire it with such accuracy it was like he didn't even have to aim. He wasn't about to get rid of it, just because it took a little longer to reload.<p>

He looked up at the sounds of footsteps drawing near and saw Lia approaching. She picked up an empty plastic bucket, turned it over, and sat down beside Daryl. She picked up some of the arrow building materials and got to work on constructing more. "Dave's doing good," she said, even though Daryl hadn't asked, "Doc thinks any brain damage he got might be minimal. He seemed normal enough when we talked."

Daryl grunted, eyes on the half-finished arrow in his hands. The head was made from salvaged metal, beaten into shape and honed to razor sharpness, which meant plenty of nicked fingers if he wasn't careful. The fletchings were made from chicken feathers. Daryl found those a lot trickier to get right. If they weren't done just so, the arrows could fly way off target.

"Dave asked about you," Lia continued, her eyes on her work. Her mouth quirked in an amused smile, "He said he's praying for us."

_"Sonuvabitch!"_ Daryl bellowed as an arrowhead sliced into his finger. He jumped to his feet and flung the incomplete arrow to the ground with a curse, sucking on his wounded fingertip. A couple of people walking by paused at his outburst. "The hell're y'all lookin' at!" he snarled, waving his other hand dismissively, "Move th' fuck on!"

There were angry mutters as they continued on their way. Daryl sat back down, glaring at his bloodied finger. Lia sat calmly through the entire episode. Daryl lost his temper a lot easier lately, and she knew the best thing to do was simply wait it out. Now that he'd quieted, she reached out and gently took his hand, bringing it closer so she could examine his wound. "We'd better clean that. I'll get the first aid kit."

Daryl watched her go to the tent and rummage inside. When she bent down, her shirt rode up to reveal a dark bruise on her back. Daryl felt a fresh surge of guilt at the sight. He knew she got that bruise from him during one of his nightmares, but if he asked about it, her only response would be "It doesn't matter." And it didn't. To her.

But it mattered to Daryl. Seeing that bruise on Lia reminded him of the bruises that always covered his mama's skin. It reminded him of the tiny scar on Lia's lip from the one time he struck her in anger, before they even fell in love. She forgave him for that, just like she forgave him for the bruises now, because she knew he never hurt her on purpose. It didn't make him feel any less of an asshole for it, though. Sooner or later, he knew, she would run out of forgiveness. Daryl wasn't sure he could handle that. It was selfish, but he needed her. The only reason he could even bear the thought of sleep was because he knew she'd be there to wake him when the nightmares were at their worst.

She always made him talk about them, the nightmares. It was hard. Talking about his fears went against Daryl's nature. He spent most of his life learning to suppress everything. And he didn't want to constantly expose Lia to the horrible things he went through night after night. But she was persistent. She patiently coaxed the words out of him, no matter how long it took, and he always felt less haunted afterwards. Daryl had no doubt that he would've gone insane without her.

Lia returned with the kit and opened it between them. She cleaned his cut with hydrogen peroxide, blowing on it to ease the sting just as she would one of the kids, then taped it up with the largest size band-aid she could find. While she worked, Daryl's eyes were drawn to her mouth, to the faint white scar on her lower lip. He reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb against it. Lia's eyes came up to meet his and she smiled. "What?"

"Nuthin'." Daryl twisted one of her braids around his finger and gave it a tug. Lia laughed. It had been a while since he did that. She leaned in and kissed the mole beside his mouth.

"I love you," she said, "Tantrums and all."

Daryl smiled, despite the thickness in his throat. She was better than his sorry ass deserved. But that didn't matter to her, either.


	29. Home

**A/N:** This is by far the longest chapter yet. I didn't plan it that way, I just started typing and didn't stop. Hope you all like it! :-D

**Disclaimer: _The Walking Dead_. Don't own it.**

Carol and Morgan pitched their tents right next to each other. Neither one of them talked about it, they just did it. They also didn't talk about the fact that when they plotted out the construction that was soon to take place, they only made plans for a single cabin.

Duane and Sophia played catch with an old baseball they scrounged up somewhere, glancing occasionally at the two adults who walked together on the clear patch of land meant for them, pointing out various spots where walls and rooms would soon go.

"Does that mean your daddy's gonna be my daddy?" Sophia asked as she tossed the ball to the boy.

Duane shrugged and tossed the ball back. "Maybe your step-daddy."

"And my mom's gonna be your step-mom."

The boy nodded. "And that'll make you an' me step-brother 'n' step-sister."

They pondered this for a moment while they passed the ball back and forth. The prospect didn't bother them as much as their parents would've expected, for different reasons.

Duane overheard enough conversations between the couple to know that his father talked about his mother quite a bit to Carol. He still missed her, still mourned her death and the fact that he had to put her down when she turned. Duane spent many nights pretending to be asleep while anxiously listening to his daddy weep with guilt and grief. Carol gave his father the comfort Duane was incapable of offering, encouraging his mother's memory while helping his father move on. There were even times when she did the same for Duane. Talking about his mama always made him sad, but the right kind of sad. A healing sad. Having Carol as his stepmother didn't trouble him at all.

As for Sophia, she was grateful to see her mother with a man who treated her with kindness and respect. Morgan never raised a hand to Carol, never called her names or made her feel stupid. And his friendliness toward Sophia was genuine, not motivated by the desire to win Carol over. Sophia would have known the difference. Her own daddy had behaved that way the times Carol left him in order to win his estranged wife back. It always hurt her when her mother fell for the ploy again and again. Morgan wasn't like that. His eyes didn't glaze over when he asked Sophia to tell him about her day. He listened and he cared. Sophia was not at all unhappy at the thought of him becoming her stepfather.

Morgan and Carol were discussing the placement of the rooms and where the vegetable garden would be planted when Carol's voice trailed off and Morgan saw her staring down at her shoes. He stepped closer and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

She raised her head to look at him, her expression worried. "Are we moving too fast?"

Morgan frowned, not in irritation, but in thought. "It feel that way to you? If it does, we can take it slower. I don't want you rushin' into this just to make me happy."

Carol smiled a little at his response. "It's just...you lost your wife."

"And you lost your husband."

Carol sighed and looked away. Her feelings about Ed were...complicated. While she hated the things he did to her and their daughter, at the same time he'd been a part of their lives for so long. There was comfort in familiarity, even when what was familiar brought only pain. And it was hard for Carol to learn to be in charge of her own life. Ed had always made the decisions about everything, and all she had to do was meekly comply. It was so much easier to let someone else be in charge. Even after Ed died, Carol continued to let others make the big choices and follow their lead. This was different, though. Morgan wasn't the one who started talking about building one cabin together. This was Carol's decision. For the first time since she married Ed, _she_ was the one changing the course of her life. And it felt right.

This small revelation brought a smile to Carol's face. The tension relaxed from her shoulders and she stepped forward and put her arms around Morgan's neck. "I think I just got cold feet for a second."

Morgan rested his hands on her slim waist and smiled in understanding. "Don't worry. I'm sure I'll be havin' my own panic attack soon enough."

"You? Panic?" Carol teased.

"Oh, you shoulda seen me at my wedding. I was in a state," Morgan chuckled, "My best man caught me tryin' to sneak out a window. I got stuck 'bout halfway and damn near tore up my tux gettin' unstuck."

Carol laughed at the image. "How'd the bride take it? Did she ever find out?"

"She found out alright," Morgan grinned, "Couldn't be all that hard on me, though. Turned out she locked herself in the bathroom. It took all her bridesmaids half an hour to talk her into comin' out."

Carol smiled and touched his cheek. "But it all worked out in the end," she said quietly.

Morgan nodded. "Our marriage was the best years of my life," he cupped her face in both hands, "And I'm gonna do everything I can to give you the best years of yours."

Those were the most beautiful words ever said to her. As sweet as the kiss that followed.

* * *

><p>The vehicles returned from the latest salvage trip to one of the abandoned towns that littered the countryside. Aside from clothes, toiletries, and medicines, the trucks were loaded with building supplies, which lately was in high demand. Because Shane's family had a newborn and Rick's had one on the way, it was agreed that they be given first priority in building their cabins. Tents simply weren't adequate shelter for infants.<p>

As usual, construction was a community effort. Everybody helped in some way, including the older kids. Even some of the townspeople pitched in. The line between refugee and local was gradually blurring as they labored side by side.

At the Grimes' site, Carl's job was to bring water to whoever needed it. He carried a full bucket with a ladle which he brought over whenever someone waved or called out to him. It was heavy, but emptied quickly, much to the boy's surprise. It wasn't even noon yet and he already had to refill the bucket twice. Then again, it was a hot day, and people were sweating like crazy from all the work, including Carl. He was grateful for the hat his dad gave him. Its wide brim shaded him from the worst of the sun.

Lori was under the pavilion tent that had been set up a short distance away for use as a temporary mess tent. She was helping Nana Shino and a couple of others fix lunch. Her belly was so big at that point Carl thought a careless poke would make her pop open like a balloon. Doc Lawton said it wouldn't be much longer before the baby came, but it had already been a week since his prognosis and still nothing. Carl was beginning to wonder if his little brother or sister would ever decide to come out. From the way his mom complained of her discomfort, he knew it couldn't happen soon enough for her.

A call shook him out of his reverie. Carl hurried over with his sloshing bucket.

When noon rolled around, Rick called a halt for lunch and everyone plodded over to the pavilion. Among them were Glenn, Lia, and Daryl. Andrea, Dale, and T-Dog were working with Shane and Marilyn and their cabin site, which in fact neighbored the Grimes'. They were close enough together that both work groups ended up eating lunch together. They mingled under the pavilion's shade or sat in small groups or pairs out in the short grass, talking and eating companionably. Lia and Daryl sat a little apart from the others. Daryl focused on his meal while Lia let her eyes roam over the group. She saw Glenn flirting awkwardly with a young woman named Maggie. The two of them had been gravitating towards each other over the last few days and Lia was sure it was only a matter of time before they finally hooked up. She was glad for that. She knew Glenn had been lonely.

Dannika Lawton showed up, ostensibly to check on Lori. But as soon as she was done talking to the expectant mother, she walked over to where T-Dog was and seated herself on the bench beside him. Both of them grinned broadly at each other, neither of them trying to hide the look between them.

The line between communities was indeed blurring, Lia mused. With the negative influences of Shelby and Hess gone, people were growing more accepting of each other. Suspicions and animosities on both sides were waning. It wouldn't be long before they all became one town. Rick and Shane had already joined up with the militia, and everyone suspected Rick would soon be replacing Hank as its leader. Hank did nothing to dissuade this assumption. Leadership was a burden he did not enjoy. As long as he could respect his successor - and Rick had already gone a long way towards earning his respect - Hank was more than happy to hand over the reins and go back to being a scout.

Lia knew this growing acceptance was a good thing. Everyone in her extended adoptive family - Nana, Rick and Lori and Carl, Shane and Marilyn, Dale and Andrea, Carol and Sophia, Morgan and Duane, Glenn, T-Dog, and all the kids - they all deserved a safe place to call home. And this isolated village was as safe and stable as anyplace they could hope to find. Lia knew this, and was happy to see them all settling in so well, but she didn't feel like she was a part of this. And neither did Daryl. They were trying, but they knew no matter how long they stayed or how much they established themselves, this town would never feel like home to them. Their experiences had created a rift between them and everyone else. There was no coming back from that. The only thing keeping them here, really, was the connection they still had to their friends and loved ones. Some day, even that might not be enough.

Rick was caught up in a heavy discussion with some of the other men about how to proceed with the work, so he didn't notice the way Lori grimaced and touched her belly. Dannika, however, did. She broke away from T-Dog and hurried to the pregnant woman's side. "You alright?"

"Yeah, um," Lori winced, "I think I'd better see your granddad."

Dannika smiled and helped her stand. Lori turned to her husband, still caught up in his planning. "Rick. Honey, it's time."

"Just a sec, baby," Rick responded absently.

Lori rolled her eyes. _"Rick."_

"What, Lori?" Rick turned to her, a tad annoyed by the interruption.

Their son caught on faster than he did, judging from the excited grin plastered across his face. "The baby's coming, Dad!"

Rick's jaw fell open while people around him laughed and slapped him on the back. He jumped to his feet and rushed to his wife's side. "Are you okay? Should we find a stretcher or something?"

Lori chuckled. "Take it easy, sweetheart. We've been through this before." She reached over and patted Carl's shoulder. "I'm not that far along. I can still walk fine."

"Let's get ya on over to Grampa's place," Dannika encouraged, one arm around Lori's waist to steady her.

Rick moved to support his wife from the other side and they made their careful way towards Doc Lawton's cabin while everyone yelled their congratulations. Carl practically skipped along in his parents' wake. His mother's labor didn't frighten him. His parents had been very open about the whole thing, so he knew his mom would be in pain, but it was normal and nothing to worry about. The boy was far more excited at the prospect of finally meeting his baby brother or sister. His enthusiasm went a long way to calming his father's nervousness. It was hard to worry about what all could go wrong when his son was so happy.

Work on the cabins continued. Hearts were light and talk focused on the impending arrival. By the time everyone stopped for the evening, word spread that Lori had given birth. A crowd formed outside Doc's home. The door opened moments later and Rick stepped with Carl at his side, a broad smile on his tired face, and a tiny bundle in his arms. "Everyone," he announced to the hushed people around him. He carefully twisted to give them all a view of the newborn's little face. "I'd like you all to meet my daughter Judith."

There was a chorus of _aww_s and compliments. Carl beamed as he received several congrats and pats on the back. Shane picked the boy up so they could both look at the newborn together.

"She's so beautiful," Andrea said, wiping a tear from her eye. Beside her, Dale slipped an arm around her shoulders. "That she is," he said, "It's good to see new lives beginning, Logan's and Judith's, after burying so many. It feels like a future is still possible for the human race."

Andrea hesitated. "D'you ever think, maybe we...?"

Dale looked at her in surprise. "A family?"

She nodded.

"I...I honestly never thought about it." His eyes lowered. "Do you want to have kids?" he asked quietly.

"I never did before," Andrea confessed, "But lately, I've been wondering what it'd be like. You and me being parents."

Dale pursed his lips. "Andrea, we both know I'm well past my autumn years. If we did have children, it's doubtful I'd be around long enough to see them grow up."

"I know," Andrea sighed, "I know one way or another we won't have much time together. That's why I want a family with you. So that I'll always have a living part of you with me."

Their eyes met, and many things passed between them, unsaid. Then Dale smiled and brought a gentle hand to her cheek.

* * *

><p>Daryl woke with a jolt, his heart pounding. The tent was so dark he could barely make out Lia's shape beside him. He could tell from the sound of her breaths that he hadn't woken her. Good. He didn't want to burden her with yet another nightmare. Already the details of the dream were fading. This was also good. Maybe he had a chance at getting a little more sleep. Daryl lay his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. Without thought, he put his arm around Lia's waist and pulled her against him. She murmured in her sleep and snuggled closer. Even now, after almost a year together, Daryl marveled at this. Not just the fact that she wanted to be close to him, but that he wanted to hold her. Throughout the one night stands that made up his love life before her, Daryl recoiled from touching whatever woman he was with after the sex was over. Even the thought of those skanks cozying up to him made his skin crawl.<p>

He buried his nose in her braided hair and breathed in her scent. She smelled of sweat, which was inevitable in this heat, and sun, and soap, and _Lia_. It was a scent that calmed him when he was troubled and aroused him when he was happy. Her scent was home to him.

Lia stirred in his grip. "You awake?" she slurred sleepily.

Daryl winced. He didn't mean to wake her. "Go t' sleep."

She rolled over so she was facing him, even though it was too dark to see each other. Daryl felt her fingers trace the contours of his face. "Another nightmare?"

He sighed in resignation. "Not so bad this time. Can't even remember it."

Lia didn't press, for which he was grateful. But as the silence stretched on, Daryl wondered if something was wrong. "What is it?" he asked.

Lia sighed. "Somebody asked me if we'd planned out our cabin yet. I didn't know what to say."

Daryl knew what she meant. They were tired of living in temporary shelters and sleeping on the ground, but at the same time they couldn't bring themselves to contemplate something more permanent. At least not here.

Daryl knew, even though he couldn't see her face, that Lia was brooding. He couldn't think of anything to say that might comfort her, so he mirrored her earlier gesture and touched her face. His thumb brushed her lips and he felt them curve in a smile.

"Why don't we get away for a while?" she asked suddenly, "Go hunting like we used to."

The thought appealed to him. Even though they both kept busy, Daryl was becoming more on edge the longer they spent inside the wall. No one was forbidden to leave, but people rarely went out unless they were patrolling or salvaging, heavily armed and on constant guard against walkers. That kind of behavior irked him. Of course it was dangerous out there, but they acted like the world was swarming with geeks, and that really wasn't so. A man could spend days out in the wilderness without encountering a single walker. As long as he stayed wary and didn't get careless, survival wasn't difficult.

And Daryl missed the woods. He missed the quiet, the time away from people and all the pressures they caused, intended or not. Back when they still lived in the old office building, he and Lia often went hunting together. There was even a couple of times when they spent days out in the woods, just the two of them, camping and living off of what they hunted or foraged. Those were good times.

"Yeah," Daryl answered in a low drawl, "Let's do that."

People who didn't know them thought they were crazy. A camping trip? With all those walkers out there? Many were positive they'd never come back. Not alive, anyway. But no one tried to stop them. They weren't prisoners. If they wanted to go and get themselves killed, that was their choice.

Those who knew them, of course, thought nothing of it. Instead of dire predictions, they said things like "have fun" and "see ya in a few days." In truth, they were surprised Daryl and Lia hadn't done this sooner.

One person the couple did worry about was Sally. Even though she remembered their forays back at their old home, it was possible their leaving now would bring back her separation anxieties. But as they said their goodbyes at the gate, the toddler remained calm. When they hugged her, she squeezed their necks and kissed them on the cheek, just like she used to whenever they went off into the woods. Then she went to Nana Shino, who would watch over her while they were gone.

"Have a good time, you two," Nana smiled and gave them each a hug.

"We'll be back in a few days," Lia promised. She waved as she and Daryl headed for the gate.

"Bye-bye!" Sally called after them, waving her little arm enthusiastically.

One of the guards at the gate gave the couple a doubtful look as they approached. "Y' sure y'all wanna go out there?"

"Yeah," Daryl answered curtly.

The guard snorted. "'Kay. Your funeral." He pulled the lever that operated the counterweight system. The gate swung open with hardly a sound and was closed as soon as Lia and Daryl cleared it.

"Think they'll let us back in when we come back?" Lia asked in a wry tone.

Daryl snorted. "Prob'ly wanna strip search us t' make sure we ain't bit."

"As long as they don't shoot first, I can live with that."

* * *

><p>It seemed like the deeper they went into the woods, the more tension seeped away. They fell into a familiar rhythm, Daryl tracking, Lia watching for possible threats. They kept their bows ready and their eyes peeled, and yet they were more relaxed than they'd been in weeks. They traveled in comfortable silence, without a destination or goal. There wasn't much wildlife at first. The town's proximity and recent walker activity frightened many of the animals away. But over time, Daryl noticed the telltale signs of deer, rabbit, and other creatures.<p>

If he'd been alone, Daryl would have divided his attention between tracking and watching out for geeks or other humans. But with Lia behind him, he focused entirely on hunting. He trusted her to watch their backs.

They made camp in a small, sheltered clearing not too far from a waterhole. Together they pitched the tent and set up strings of empty tin cans to warn them if walkers stumbled close. Daryl built up a fire and dressed and spitted a rabbit he caught earlier while Lia foraged for greens. They also heated a can of beans from one of their packs. Daryl thought it was the best food he'd eaten in a long time.

"You look happy," Lia remarked with a grin. It was the first time either of them spoke in hours.

Daryl tossed the rabbit bones into the fire. "I was goin' batshit back in that town," he muttered.

"Yeah. Me too."

Daryl looked at her. There was still enough daylight to see her clearly. Her black hair shone, and the firelight added an extra glow to her golden skin. Before her, all the women he ever found attractive were white. Any other kind was unthinkable to him. Dixons didn't mix with other races. He smirked at the thought of his daddy or Merle seeing him now. If they didn't die of heart attacks they'd kick his ass. Or disown him altogether. This might've mattered to him once, but he just didn't give a shit about any of that now. Funny how things changed.

Lia noticed his scrutiny of her. "What?"

Daryl lowered his gaze. "I was thinkin' ya look beautiful," he mumbled. He wasn't comfortable giving compliments. It wasn't something he did very often. He picked up a long stick and prodded the fire to cover his embarrassment.

Lia smiled broadly, touched by the compliment and the effort she knew it took for him to say it. She got up and went to him. Daryl leaned back in surprise when she moved to straddle his lap. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him softly. Daryl felt himself grow hard, and it both startled and delighted him. Among other things, his nightmares had a stifling affect on his libido. The fact that he was turned on now told him how much they'd needed to get away from it all.

His right hand reached around to grab her ass. His other hand slipped under her T-shirt to brush his fingertips against the small of her back. Lia shuddered at his touch. The erogenous zone at her spine sent electric shocks straight to her core. She groaned and wriggled closer to him. "Think we can leave it to the alarms for a while?"

Daryl grinned. "Hell yeah."

Laughing, Lia stood and pretty much dragged him into the tent. They tumbled onto the sleeping bags in a tangle of limbs, mouths locked in a penetrating kiss. Their hands fumbled at each other's clothes until they realized it would go faster if they undressed themselves. Shirts, pants, socks, and underwear were scattered throughout the tent, wherever they were flung. Lia gasped as Daryl abruptly slipped a calloused finger into her and his thumb rubbed almost aggressively against her nub. His intense blue eyes watched her reaction, her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. She ground herself against his hand and he slipped another finger into her.

"Touch me," he growled.

Lia blinked as she struggled to connect the words to his meaning. She reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock. Her fingers slid up and down its length, matching the rhythm of Daryl's hand. Their breaths grew ragged as they pleasured each other. Finally, Daryl pushed her hand away, withdrew his fingers, and positioned himself between her legs. It took all his self control not to slam into her. He forced himself to enter her slowly, so they could both experience every inch. By the time he was buried to the hilt inside her Lia was whimpering and clawing at his back.

"Don't go slow," she begged, "Please, Daryl, I can't handle slow."

That was good, because Daryl doubted he could do slow at this point. His body screamed for hard and fast. There was no fear that he might hurt Lia. She took it all and gave back just as fiercely. After working through their traumas with talking and crying, they now released all their stress in this primal act.

"Cum for me," Daryl panted, knowing he couldn't maintain this rhythm for long. He slid a hand between their bodies and stimulated her swollen nub. "I need ya t' cum."

Lia moaned. All coherent thought escaped her. She clung to the man above her and cried over and over the only word that existed for her at that moment. "Daryl! Daryl! _Daryl!_"

His mouth crashed into hers the instant she peaked, swallowing her scream and muffling his own loud groans. Their bodies shuddered in shared climaxes, then all their muscles relaxed and they went still. For a while there was only the sound of their exhausted breaths, then a euphoric giggle escaped Lia's mouth. "Wow..."

Daryl let out a tired chuckle. He slipped out of Lia and rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him so her head rested against his chest. His fingers combed through her braids. "Shoulda done this ages ago."

"Yeah," she yawned, snuggled closer. "We definitely needed this." Her eyes drifted shut as sleep beckoned.

Daryl kissed the top of her head. "I love ya," he whispered.

Lia smiled, eyes still closed. "I love you, too."

* * *

><p>They traveled in a gradual arc, circling back towards the village. On occasion they saw walkers. If there were only a few, they put them down. Once they saw a much larger group which they were able to avoid. They lived off the land, on wild game and edible plants. When they made camp each evening, like as not, they made love, and sleep afterwards was mostly peaceful. Daryl still had nightmares, but hey were less severe than they were back in town, and he went back to sleep almost as soon as he woke from them. The days blended together until the better part of a week went by. They would be back at the village soon (neither one of them thought of it as home) and already they felt the knowledge dim their mood.<p>

On the afternoon of the sixth day, they came upon a dell, and at the very center of it stood a lone cabin. The couple paused at this unexpected discovery. It was hard to tell if the place was inhabited or not. It was sturdily built with all its windows intact, though the roof looked like it could use new shingles. Solar panels were situated on the roof, a couple of peach trees grew in the yard, and a pickup stood at the end of a graveled driveway. Twin ruts marked a path away from the cabin, probably leading to the highway. The ruts were overgrown from months of disuse. It wouldn't be much longer before they disappeared altogether. As Daryl and Lia approached, they saw that the tires on the truck were all deflated. Dead leaves choked the rain gutters and accumulated under the angled solar panels.

Lia shook her head in dismay. "How close is this place to town?" she murmured, "Maybe an hour?"

"Less 'n that," Daryl replied.

"How did they miss this?"

Daryl snorted in derision. "Ain't like anybody's been explorin', holed up like they are."

They cautiously approached the cabin, their bows at the ready in case of trouble. The cabin's door was closed, and a peek into the windows didn't reveal anyone inside, living or otherwise. Daryl reached out and twisted the doorknob. The door swung open with a faint squeak from the hinges. He entered the cabin with his crossbow loaded and checked the entire room before letting Lia follow him inside. Lia closed the door behind them. The last thing they needed was a stray walker wandering in while they checked the place out.

The interior was surprisingly tidy, aside from the layer of dust that covered everything. The living area was dominated by a couch and a couple of chairs, all upholstered in earth tones. A patchwork quilt was folded over the back of the couch. There was a coffee table made of dark wood, hardwood floorboards, and a big rug done in some kind of Native American pattern. There was a cast iron wood stove to warm the place in winter, and an entire wall taken up with bookshelves, all lined with a variety of hardcovers and paperbacks. No TV, no entertainment center, no computer. This was obviously someone's getaway from such modern contrivances. To their right was a small kitchen with a stove, fridge, and microwave. A door in the kitchen led to a pantry. Lia's eyes widened at the rows of canned and dried goods that lined the shelves, enough to last one or two people for weeks.

Daryl touched her arm, drawing her attention back to the task at hand. This was not the time to gawk at riches. The cabin belonged to someone, and they needed to find out what happened to them, if they died or left or if they were coming back. Lia nodded and closed the pantry.

They left the kitchen and walked through the living room to where three doors stood in a row. The first door they opened revealed a room with a single bed and stacks of cardboard boxes. A spare room being used for storage. They checked under the bed, inside the closet, and then left, shutting the door behind them. The next door led to a small bathroom. There was a toilet, sink, and a deep tub with a showerhead. Daryl pushed aside the shower curtain, found the bathtub empty. Satisfied, they left the bathroom. Only one room left to check.

They knew they'd found the cabin's owner the second the door swung open and the smell drifted out. The musty smell of something long dead and past the point of decay. Their hands tightened on their weapons as they stepped into the room.

It was the master bedroom. There was a dresser, a closet, and a king size bed. Sunlight streamed through the broad window, illuminating the entire room. Daryl and Lia stepped closer to the bed, their bows gradually lowering. There was no danger here.

The body of a man lay in the very center of the bed, dressed in jeans, hiking boots, and a plaid flannel shirt. His features were gaunt, flesh dark and shriveled with dehydration. His hair was long and chestnut brown. Curled up with him on the bed, its head resting on his belly, was a golden retriever. The man's left hand was buried in its fur, like he'd been petting it. His other hand still held the revolver that ended both their lives. A single bullet hole to each skull. Dark brown stains were spattered across the bed's comforter an on the wall.

Lia turned away from the tragic scene and noticed a wallet on top of the dresser. She picked it up opened it. She smirked at the hundreds and twenties she found inside, cash that was good for nothing now except as fire starters. There were also several credit cards and a drivers license with a picture of a thirty-something man who looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors. The name on it was Shaun Boothby.

There were several framed photos arranged on the dresser. Shaun was in most of them, sometimes alone, sometimes with hunting buddies, all posing with their rifles and their successful kills. There was one other man who featured in these images as often as Shaun did, an older guy with Hispanic features. At first Lia thought they were best friends until she saw one picture with the two of them together. Shaun was standing behind the other man with his arms around his shoulders, the kind of pose only couples made. Lia turned to look at the body on the bed and felt a surge of sadness for him. For whatever reason, his partner never made it out here. Shaun could've survived indefinitely in this isolated place, but grief or loss of hope drove him to end it all.

"Gotta bury 'im," Daryl muttered. His gruff voice made it sound purely practical, but Lia saw the solemnness in his eyes. They found a shovel in the toolshed out back and took turns digging the grave, one shoveling while the other kept watch. When it was finally deep enough they wrapped the bed comforter around Shaun and his dog and carried both bodies out to the grave. It felt appropriate somehow to bury them together. No words were said as they filled in the hole. They stood over the mound of dirt in silence for a few minutes, then went back inside.

"Think it still works?" Lia asked, regarding the showerhead. She was anxious to wash the sweat and grime off, even if the water was cold.

Daryl reached over and turned the spigot. Water gushed out of the bathtub's faucet. Lia shook her head in amazement. "I can't believe the plumbing's still good."

"Might be tapped int' an artesian well," Daryl said.

Lia frowned. "Artesian?" She knew the word, but its meaning escaped her.

"Got its own natural pressure," Daryl explained, "Ya don' need a pump t' move it through th' pipes."

Steam started to rise from the tub. Daryl grinned. "'N' the solar panels 're still powerin' th' water heater."

"We've got _hot water?_" Lia exclaimed.

Daryl's grin widened. "Yep."

Lia moaned.

They showered together and made the most of the experience, then they ate a meal from the pantry's stores. When they finished it was dark out and they were both bone tired. They decided to sleep in the spare room, since neither of them could bear the thought of lying in the same bed Shaun died in. The spare bed was only a single, but it was enough for them. They didn't even mind the staleness of the sheets.

"This is a good place," Lia murmured in the dark, "It's incredible we even found it."

Daryl was silent for a long time. Lia had almost drifted off before he finally spoke. "We c'n stay here."

He felt her tense in his arms. "Stay? You mean...permanently?"

"There's water," he said, "There's power. Plenty o' game t' hunt. Lotsa room fer a vegetable garden. And it's less 'n an hour from town, so we c'n still see everybody."

"But what about Sally?" she whispered.

He answered, just as quiet, "We could bring her here."

He waited anxiously for her response, half afraid she'd shoot the suggestion down. Finally, she twisted around until they faced each other, even though it was too dark to see. Her breath tickled his chin as she said to him, "It's crazy to jump into something like this. But...I think it's perfect."

Daryl let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding. "Y' sure?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's not like I believe in fate or anything, but stumbling onto a place like this, it's too good to pass up. And neither one of us 'll ever be happy back in town."

Daryl's breath shuddered in relief and he kissed her hard on the lips. "Thank you," he whispered.

There were no bad dreams that night.


	30. A Better Life

**A/N:** Final chapter, y'all! Many thanks to **JadedSun**, **SaraLostInes**, **Frenzy In Delirium**, **Fangirl squee**, **Cotton Strings**, **gurl3677**, **musicforsanity**, **CaryFairy**, **orvokki**, **shippolove844**, **PurpleCherrysodaPop**, **RebornRose1992**, **USMCKempeitai**, **eloquent** **dreams**, **Nurseratchet**, **PlaneJane21**, **Ash** **Vaughn**, **XxXWolfDemonKimaXxX**, **severussgrl**, **Kina**, **kdoggt**, **Rat**, **SharonH**, **GatorGirl1995**, **vessievu**, and **Emberka-2012** for their reviews (sorry if I missed anyone). Also thanks also to everyone who read, followed, and favorited this story. Much luv!

-JoanieNobody

**Disclaimer: I am not the owner or creator of _The Walking Dead_. I'm just a fan showing her appreciation.**

They indulged in another shower the next morning and ate breakfast from some of the pantry's contents. There were several jars of peaches and peach preserves, no doubt canned from the fruit of the trees outside. Lia and Daryl put several of these jars into their packs to take back with them, along with a few more choice items that would go over well with the others back in town.

Lia stole several glances at Daryl as they readied themselves for the journey to the village. Since finding this unexpected sanctuary and deciding to move here, Daryl was more relaxed than Lia remembered seeing him in a long time. He noticed her watching him and smirked, but said nothing. They shouldered their packs, picked up their bows, and headed out.

After shutting the door behind them, Lia patted her hip pocket, then laughed at the unconscious gesture.

"What?" Daryl asked.

Lia waved a hand in embarrassment. "I was looking for a key to lock the door. Habit, I guess."

Daryl snorted.

They set off, side by side. Though alert as always for possible dangers, their steps were longer than normal, almost rushed. As reluctant as they were to leave their newly discovered home, they were eager to see their friends again after their long absence. A sentiment which only reinforced the ideal-ness of the cabin's close proximity to the village.

As Daryl predicted, they reached their destination in less than an hour. Lia grinned as she saw the sentries up on the wall gesturing frantically at each other. It was a safe bet they never expected to see her and Daryl again, except maybe as walkers. Perhaps this would encourage the townspeople to be a little more daring when it came to leaving the safety of their enclosed community. The world was dangerous, but people were resourceful, so long as they were willing to face those dangers.

The gate swung open when they neared. Waiting inside was a sizable group of people, many of whom were there to gawp at the couple's amazing (to them) return. Rick, Shane, Nana, the kids, and others from the group were there was well, and none of them looked surprised at all by Daryl and Lia's arrival.

"Welcome back," Rick said drily, "Hope you two enjoyed yourselves."

"We did," Lia replied, grinning, "And you'll never believe what we found."

They all wound up gathered in the meeting hall so Daryl and Lia could tell everyone about their discovery at the same time. The home-canned peaches and other gifts from the pantry were welcome proof. Their decision to move away from town, not so much.

"You're leavin'?" Jessie exclaimed, upset by this announcement. She and the other kids had been fitting in well here. Many of the town's adults once had children of their own, their young lives cut short by the walker epidemic, and they therefore treated the kids' arrivals with kindness that verged on spoiling. But they were not family. To the kids, Lia and Daryl were family, and the thought of the couple no longer living with them was devastating.

"It ain't that far," Daryl said with a gruffness that everyone knew belied his affection, "Hell, th' littlest kids could walk there 'n' back easy."

"But why cancha stay here?" Bobby asked in a small, sad voice.

Lia reached over to lay a hand on the boy's shoulder. "We love you all. That'll never change," she promised, "But we need a place of our own, away from here. This town... Things weren't so great for us when we first came here."

Daryl scoffed. That was a hell of an understatement.

"And because of that," Lia continued, "Daryl and I won't ever be comfortable here. We'll still be close. We can all visit each other every day."

Jessie threw a challenging look towards Daryl. "Are you still gonna teach us to hunt?"

"Yeah," Daryl nodded, "If y'all still wanna learn, I'll teach ya."

"What about Sally?" Lori asked, her own daughter cradled in her arms, "She thinks of you two as her parents now. Are you going to take her with you?"

Sally was sitting in Lia's lap. The toddler looked up at her adopted mother and Lia smiled tenderly at her. "Yes. She'll live with us. We're her mommy and daddy, after all."

The little girl beamed up at her.

Hank turned to Javier Martinez, who was seated near him. "Th' Elders got anything t' say about this?"

"They got no say," Daryl snapped before the Elder could reply, "It ain't their decision."

"He's right," Javier agreed, much to Daryl's surprise, "If they wanna live outside o' town, it's their choice."

Dale spoke up, "Well, I for one think this is the best solution for everyone. Sound like you two found a great little place for yourselves."

Lia smiled at the older man in gratitude. "It is."

"It ain't ready yet," Daryl said, "Place needs fixin' up before we c'n move in."

"We'll help," Glenn volunteered. Several others nodded in agreement.

It was the least conflicted outcome anyone could remember in some time.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, there wasn't as much work as one might expect that needed to be done on the cabin. It was a well-built structure designed to last for many years. The solar panels still worked. Wiring and plumbing were sound. The roof was the only thing that really needed to be seen to. This meant using the overgrown "road" to bring in the necessary materials, something that Daryl didn't like, but understood was necessary. Carrying everything in on people's backs would take forever, and he really wanted to get everything done as soon as possible so he, Lia, and Sally could move in. So the town's trucks plowed the weeds and scrub beneath their tires while they drove over the half-concealed wheel ruts. Once all the materials were delivered and the old discarded shingles taken away, Daryl and several others worked to conceal the ruts once again so that no one traveling on or near the old highway would see and try to investigate. He, Shane, Rick, and T-Dog spent the next couple of sweaty days putting the new roof on the cabin.<p>

Meanwhile, Lia and Glenn got rid of the mattress that Shaun Boothby died on and replaced it with a new one salvaged from a nearby town. They also scrubbed away the old bloodstains and repainted the walls.

Carol, Andrea, Nana, and Dale cleared out the clutter from the spare room and got it ready for Sally. They decorated it with pictures of cartoon animals, brought her favorite toys, put her clothes away in the closet and dresser, and brought in a smaller bed for her.

Marilyn and Lori gathered up all the photos that belonged to the cabin's former owner and packed them away in boxes to be stored elsewhere. There had been talk of burning them, but Lia shot that idea down. She felt it was disrespectful to destroy the remnants of Shaun's life.

Outside, Morgan and several of the townspeople worked to clear a plot of land to be used for the vegetable garden. Although it was a bit late in the season, they could still raise some crops before winter set in to supplement the pantry's stores.

Everything was ready. It was time for the family to move in.

There was a farewell party the night before. Lia and Daryl were somewhat surprised at the number of well-wishers who were original members of the town. Dave Wilson was among them. His gait was a bit unsteady still, so he had to use a cane, but otherwise he was well along in his recovery. He grinned and shook Daryl's hand, then pecked Lia on the cheek, which caused Daryl to bristle.

"I hope y'all find the peace yer lookin' for out there," Dave said. His eyes told them he probably understood their motivations better than anyone. "I'm still prayin' for you both."

"And I'll be thinking good thoughts about you," Lia replied. Daryl nodded, letting the man know in his own taciturn way that he shared Lia's sentiment.

Marilyn, Lori, Carol, and Andrea each embraced the couple goodbye. Daryl was uncomfortable, but tolerated their actions. It wasn't quite as tough for him when Nana Shino said her own farewell. "I know you'll take care of Lia and Sally, so I will not bother asking that of you," the old woman murmured in his ear, "Instead, I want you to promise me that you will let them take care of you. Don't hold them at arm's length when things get hard. You'll only weaken yourself if you do that." Nana drew back to gaze at him with her stern almond eyes. "Promise me."

Daryl swallowed, nodded. "I promise," he mumbled.

The old woman's features softened into a warm smile. "Good. I'm happy for you, Daryl." She squeezed his shoulder. "For all of you."

Daryl was surprised by the ache in his chest as the goodbyes continued. Glenn and T-Dog teased him. "Got your own little honeymoon spot, huh?" "Lia better watch out or she's gonna turn into as big a redneck as you." Rick was more subdued, "I'm sure you'll do very well for yourselves out there." Even Shane offered his own well wishes, "Good luck, man. I mean it. You deserve it." By the time he got to Dale and Morgan, Daryl wasn't really listening anymore. A strange numbness came over him. It was the last thing he ever expected, but he felt kind of sad to be leaving these people, even if it was only a short distance. Somewhere along the line they stopped being people he traveled with out of necessity and became something like family. He couldn't even pinpoint the moment this change occurred. And it made this departure bittersweet.

Doc Lawton grinned and handed Lia a jar of homemade ointment. "This oughta help with any bumps 'n' scrapes y'all 're sure t' get."

"Thanks," she hesitated, "Uh, would you mind teaching me how to make it?"

The doctor grinned. "Always eager t' learn somethin' new, ain't ya?"

Lia chuckled. "Anything useful, sure."

"Then I'll teach ya."

"Thank you."

The kids all hugged Lia so fiercely her ribs became sore. "I'm not going that far," she repeated with a laugh.

Jessie stepped forward with something in her hands. "We all wanted you t' have this." She held it out to Lia. It was one of the new quick-load crossbows. The kids had decorated with amazingly detailed earth-toned patterns.

Lia accepted the gift with a lump in her throat. "It's beautiful. Thank you all."

Baby Aidan waddled forward to hug her leg. He wanted in on the attention, even though he didn't know what all this was for. Lia laughed and squatted down to kiss the little boy's downy head. "I'll miss you, too, sweetheart."

The dog, Brownie, took the opportunity to lick her face. Lia sputtered and scratched behind the pit bull's ears. Then she stood and hugged her new crossbow to her. It was late, and she and Daryl planned to leave early tomorrow. After a few more goodbyes they gathered Sally and headed for their tent for the last time.

"Is Sally sleeping with us tonight?" Lia asked.

Daryl glanced at the half-asleep toddler he carried. "Yeah," he answered quietly, "That'd be okay."

Lia smiled and wound her arm around his waist.

* * *

><p>The predawn rays were barely peeking over the wall when they woke the next morning. They packed up Daryl's old tent and the few possessions they hadn't yet brought out to the cabin, shouldered their packs and their weapons, and headed for the gate. The guards on duty let them through without comment this time, only nods of acknowledgment which the couple returned. The gate swung closed behind them with an air of finality.<p>

A few minutes into their journey, Lia paused and wiped her eyes. "Why the hell am I crying?" she laughed unsteadily, "This is ridiculous!"

Daryl didn't say anything. He was carrying Sally, who'd wakened for a short time while they got ready to leave, but conked out as soon as he picked her up. Daryl freed one hand to place against the small of Lia's back. She smiled at the comforting gesture. The sight of him holding Sally was endearing. The girl's head rested on his shoulder, her little face slightly mushed into an adorable pout. Because Daryl's hands were full with her, Lia was the only one able to use a weapon for their defense. She stuck with her old compound bow, since she didn't have the chance to practice with her new crossbow yet.

Lia breathed in and visibly pulled herself together. She nodded to let him know her brief emotional outburst had passed. "Let's go."

The moment the cabin came into view, they both felt a lightness in their hearts and their steps quickened to reach the door and step through. The dust and mustiness that had permeated the place when they first discovered it was long gone. The air inside the cabin was clean and inviting. It felt like coming home.

Daryl carried Sally to the former spare room, which was now hers. He carefully lowered the sleeping toddler into the new child-size bed and tucked her in. Sally turned onto her side and her thumb found its way into her mouth. Daryl gently brushed back her dark hair and bent down to place a light kiss on her temple. The little girl didn't stir. Daryl left the room to find Lia setting their packs and weapons down beside the door to put away later. Daryl walked over to her and abruptly pulled her into an embrace.

Contentment. That was the only word that could describe what he felt at that moment. It was a feeling he never thought he would experience. He knew the nightmares and hardships weren't over, and probably never would be. But he also knew with a strange clarity that the joys would overshadow the sorrows. It would be a good life, one he didn't think he really deserved, but intended to cling selfishly to for as long as he could.

"What're you thinking about?" Lia murmured into his shoulder.

Daryl twisted a braid around his finger and gave it a tug. "I'm thinkin' we oughta sleep in this morning."

Lia drew back to look at him. Her smile carried a hint of mischief. "Well, we do have a new mattress to break in."

Daryl grinned. "I like how yer mind works, woman."

Laughing, Lia kissed the mole at the corner of his mouth, then took both hands in hers and led him towards the bedroom that was now theirs. Daryl followed her willingly, as he would for the rest of their lives.


End file.
